


Strike the Sun

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Season/Series 04, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 137,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Jackson Whittemore found a sort of desperate peace in London, but his father's heart attack drags him back to the one place he thought he would never return.   And while he may never be what other people consider a hero, he may be the one thing Stiles and Scott need to make it through the rest of the school year.This is an attempt to rewrite Season 4 in order to give the characters time to more thoroughly explore the traumas they have endured, to salvage relationships that were cut short by the necessities of Hollywood, and to resolve some niggling inconsistencies in the plot.





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are incomplete. I will add more as the story continues. One change is that I have altered Jackson's age to be one year older than Scott, because Teen Wolf's timeline is over-cooked spaghetti. In Season 1, Jackson is already captain of the lacrosse team at try-outs, but Garrett tells Liam "You might be our first freshman captain!" It doesn't make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue has been thoroughly revised to correct some errors and eliminate a plot that was going nowhere. Many thanks to FanFictionFridge.

_**He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it.**_  
_**That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him.**_  
_**Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me!**_  
Captain Ahab in Herman Melville's _Moby Dick_  


When Jackson had arrived in London, transported across the world by well-meaning parents, he had found himself at a total loss. He had been supposed to attend a very expensive private academy and to finish out his secondary school career in peace and safety. He had been supposed to make new friends, to find a new life, and to redefine himself away from the troubles that had plagued him in Beacon Hills.

Only, things hadn’t worked out as planned. It wasn’t his parents’ fault. How could they had made the right decisions for him when they believed that his death and resurrection were actually something as mundane as an attempted suicide coupled with self-harm? It hadn’t been the best lie Derek Hale, Melissa McCall and he could have told them, but they had had to tell them something. His parents had even procured him a therapist on this side of the ocean, and Jackson wasted an hour three times a week avoiding her questions.

While the months between the confrontation in the warehouse and his departure for England had been difficult, it hadn't gotten any easier once he was gone. While being in Beacon Hills was agonizing, he had at least had the benefit of his parents’ presence, the fading warmth of Lydia’s devotion, and the weakest of pack bonds with Derek. 

Rather than giving him a fresh perspective, London had made Jackson feel like a pariah. He had considered himself fit to be a world traveler, but instead he was unsettled. The students he went to class with, the teachers who instructed him, the waiters who served him at restaurants were like masked strangers. He wanted to tell them who he was, but he didn’t want them to know what he had done, and those two desires could not both be fulfilled. Every day, he alternated between fear of discovery and a crippling loneliness. So, he kept his head down, did his work, went to therapy, and slept when he couldn’t stay awake anymore.

It hadn't been that much of a surprise the first time scales reappeared on his arm.

Jackson should have known that you couldn’t fix deep-set emotional problems with a single cathartic moment of true connection. Lydia loved him, and he had loved her, but that wasn’t a path forward. Until he came to terms with himself, she could only be a temporary patch on his soul. The thought of going back to her would wake him in the middle of the night, but he refused to give in. The only place worse than London would be Beacon Hills.

It was the Club’s interest in him that had lifted his despair. 

At the start of eighteenth-century England, blasphemy was all the rage among the aristocracy. To entertain themselves, the upper class began to indulge in irreligious behavior as entertainment. None of them truly wanted to see the Church go; it insured social stability and their own positions. They simply enjoyed the thrill of being naughty. 

Thus began the Hellfire Clubs.

Centuries later, the Clubs still existed in the modern world, mostly at centers of free thought like college campuses. It wasn’t really surprising. College students left home thinking that everything would change, rapturously believing that they would leave the pain of their high school hellholes behind. Only most would find very little change at all in their lives. 

When faced with concrete reality — that life was shitty and that you were expected to participate anyway — why not join a club dedicated to hedonism and the repudiation of morality?

There was still one functioning Hellfire Club in London, but no one would ever be able to find it in a directory. No one would ever be able to find it on the Internet. In fact, you would have to pay a lot of investigators a lot of money over many, many weeks to even receive confirmation of its existence. Many of those investigators would wind up in the morgue, for the people who ran this particular version of the Club were uninterested in any humans discovering its existence or nature.

The Club met twice a month. One simply did not inquire about joining; one had to be asked. While not all of the members of the Club were werewolves, the Director was traditionally the strongest alpha in London’s greater metropolitan area who desired the position. 

The way the Club worked turned out to be very fortunate for Jackson Whittemore in more ways than one. 

A few nights after he noticed the first signs of reversion, he had been standing on the walkway of Tower Bridge; it was a touristy place to go but it was still a distinctive landmark that he could find. He was convincing himself that he had certainly not wondered if he would survive a fall from the top of the towers, when someone managed to approach within ten feet of him without Jackson sensing them. Once he had noticed them, there was no mistaking the scent of another werewolf. Jackson had tried to blow him off, but the man would not leave him be until Jackson had accepted the hand-written invitation to the next meeting of London’s Hellfire Club.

Jackson almost didn’t go. He thought the invitation and the title of the club was pretentious. Why would he want to hang out with a bunch of high-class English weirdos? But then again, he had learned to be more cautious in the last months; he thought it wiser to know how they had found him. He arrived promptly at a luxurious penthouse in Soho at the appointed time. 

Alexandrina, the Director of the Club, had met him in a solarium filled with exotic plants. She was a well-dressed red-haired woman, beautiful and urbane. She had reminded him of nothing more than a more mature version of Lydia. He had started off the conversation with his usual defensive hostility, but the woman had pretty much disarmed him with her wit, her knowledge, and the sheer power that bled from her presence. She was clearly an alpha, one who wasn’t riddled with insanity and greed like Peter or crippled by guilt for the past like Derek. She flattered his ego while refusing to coddle his insecurity. Jackson had fallen a tiny bit in love.

Eventually, he asked her a simple question. “Why would you invite an omega to your club?”

Alexandrina laughed and put her drink down on a glass table with a resounding chime. “You’re not an omega, Jackson. You’re a kanima, even if you no longer take that form regularly.” She gestured for one of the staff to refill both their wine glasses. She had a cadre of humans who could be trusted not to spill the secrets of the supernatural to the general public for servants.

“Not anymore. I was cured.” The shame had burned on his cheeks even though Jackson had tried to stop it.

“So I was told, but I don’t believe it. You see, the libraries at the Club’s disposal are far better stocked than the ones you had access to in California. The Hale Bestiary? Talia was a very formidable alpha, but she was also …” Alexandrina had paused as if trying to find the right word. “She was conservative. Her family kept to traditions that were thousands of years old, but to do so meant they clung to a way of life that was also thousands of years old. My family and my pack have moved along with the times; we’re far more flexible. We’ve embraced the modern world and adapted to it with new traditions.”

“As for the Argents, their bestiary is, by necessity, biased in order to focus on the hunt; the information it bears is useful but not exhaustive. My family, on the other hand, has pursued knowledge for its own sake. We know more about your state than anyone in California could tell you.”

After giving him a moment to shift uncomfortably in his seat, she continued. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, but you have to understand that a kanima doesn’t manifest every time an orphan is bitten, or they’d be far more common than they are. It takes a certain confluence of events to create one, and true love’s pledge isn’t likely to fix those conditions completely. You’re rare, and the fact that you’ve been able to re-establish your identity makes you rarer still. The Club … _appreciates_ that quality.”

Jackson glanced at one of the exits from the corner of his eye. Part of him wanted to flee, but he also knew that there was nothing waiting out there in the London night for him. He also had to admit that the idea that people wanting him, no matter how dangerous the reason, was more appealing than another week of tedious anonymity.

“No one here will become your Master, Jackson. You have my word.” She chuckled confidently. “Unless, of course, you want them to. That type of arrangement holds a certain appeal for some of our members. What I will do, instead, is help keep you from succumbing fully to the more negative aspects of your condition. There are techniques that will allow you to stave off the erosion of your autonomy.”

“And what do you want in return?” 

“Your participation in the club, of course! We’re not an altruistic organization; many of our members find the entertainment we provide worth the cost. You’ll find out more about that if you participate. You have a lot of qualities that lead me to believe you belong with us; you’re rich, incredibly attractive, and unique. Many of our members will be curious about you. You’ll be the talk of the meetings for months. If you demonstrate that you do have the temperament to belong with us, you’ll find that the Club can be very rewarding for a very long time.”

Jackson frowned. It sounded too good to be true. “So, I just come to your meetings?”

“Yes. For a start, attend tonight's meeting as my guest. Will you?”

Jackson nodded and Alexandrina had been well pleased.

“Spectacular. As a taste, I’ll show you how generous I can be, by sharing a bit of information that you may not have known. Your biological father is still alive.”

Jackson nearly startled out of the chair. “That can’t be possible. My fa … my adopted father has seen the death certificate.”

“As you’ll find out, our world is very competent at concealing ourselves from the human world. I would like to say that I would introduce you, but you may not thank me for that.” Alexandrina frowned with distaste. “It’s been your unfortunate luck to have already met him. You are the son of Peter Hale.”

“What?” Jackson exclaimed. He didn’t want to believe it, but something inside told him not to doubt her. He had been instantly attracted to the Hales and what they represented, even against all better judgment. 

“The Club has a great deal of influence, even across the Atlantic. Don’t worry. I doubt he knows, and we certainly won’t hold it against you in the Club. Some of us had far worse fathers.” Alexandrina clucked her tongue. “You may not know this, but when he was a young man, Peter Hale took a Grand Tour of Europe. He was charming, roguish and like you, a fresh face to people who enjoy fresh faces. He managed to con his way into all the proper places; please try to act less louche in your behavior.”

“What did he do?”

“He _stole_. He stole frequently and without regard to the people he was stealing from.” Alexandrina waved a hand dismissively. “Not wealth, but knowledge. His modus operandi was to make deals and then to break them, staying one step ahead of the people he had deceived. I had to admit, he remains impressive but only because he’s still alive. He angered people you really shouldn’t; individuals who know how to keep grudges for centuries.” She exaggerated her face into a regretful moue. “One of these days, they might catch up to him.”

“So that’s how he figured out how to resurrect himself.” Jackson said without thinking.

Alexandrina hummed. “Most likely. I heard he spent some time with a Polish pack known for their necromancy.”

“I’m not him.” Jackson stated, suddenly and clearly. This was important to him.

“Of course not, dear.” Alexandrina smiled her approval.

That first meeting was eye opening, to say the least. The members who came were beautiful or interesting or both, even if many of them barely bothered to hide what they were behind the thinnest masks of humanity. 

Jackson followed Alexandrina around for most of the night, letting her set the pace and letting her show him the right people. He had attended enough high-society functions with his parents to know how to answer questions politely, even the very strange ones. 

He quickly found that the vast majority of the members could have cared less about how many people he had killed. They were, instead, interested in meeting a kanima and hearing the story of how he had regained his identity. With growing awareness mixed with fear, Jackson had come to realize that most of the people in the room had killed as well. They had killed willingly. And at least of third of them had killed far more people than he had.

The scheduled entertainment for that night had been a duel between two men who had held a grudge against each other for a long time. They came at each other with elaborate threats and bared knives, and it had only ended when one of them was dead. The rest of the Club applauded politely and retired to the parlors to talk about the details of the fight. 

Jackson stared at the pool of blood on the floor in confusion. He was still staring when a very gorgeous young lady with eyes of purple and green invited him to join her and her six closest friends for a private party in one of the bedrooms. He’d accepted.

The next day, he requested membership in the Club from Alexandrina. He must have done something right, because she approved it immediately.

After that, London became much more tolerable to Jackson. He still kept his head down at school; he still e-mailed and called his parents; he still lied to his therapist. But every two weeks, he found solace in the company of people who were just as corrupt, just as cold, and just as bloodied as him. But even more so, most nights after school found him gravitating to Alexandrina’s side. He learned everything she felt like teaching. He worked with her pack, though he also figured out that she would never invite him to join unless he married one of the pack members; that was the way of things. During this time, and especially during the full meetings of the Club, he remembered how to truly feel alive. It was there that he finally forgot what he had left behind.

But like all good things in Jackson Whittemore’s life, it was bound to end. He was lying sprawled before an open fire on the longest night of the year. They had finished their revels and now they were resting before the trip home. One of the human butlers came up to the group, carefully avoiding any sort of tedious ogling at the general state of undress, and waited to be recognized.

“Yes?” Alexandrina arched a delicate eyebrow.

“I have an urgent message for Master Whittemore,” the man announced.

Jackson stretched and sat up. The servant gave him the folded message and then vanished as was proper.

“What is it, Jackson?” Alexandrina ran a fingertip over his earlobe.

“It’s my father.” Jackson stood up. “I’m sorry, my adopted father …”

David Whittemore had had a heart attack the night before. With a sudden sinking feeling, Jackson knew exactly what was going to happen. “I have to go home.”


	2. The Dark Moon (Part 1:  Back Into Shadow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson returns to Beacon Hills. He quickly discovers that nothing is all right.

Jackson sat in his Porsche in the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School, watching other students arrive for the first day of classes of the second semester. This was what could have been. He recognized many of the students even if he didn’t know their names. He watched friends of his talk and laugh with each other. They weren’t close friends – they weren’t Danny – but he had acted as if they were friends. He had gone to parties with them; he knew who they liked and who they didn't. They were part of his old, normal life. Jackson could choose to get out of his car and pretend that nothing had happened since the first day of the second semester of sophomore year.

He would indeed be pretending; he wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter that he had sat in this driver’s seat a hundred times before; this time it felt like arriving at his own execution. While he was in London, he had told himself that he had seen the last of this crappy school and these crappy people and that crappy lacrosse field. But here he was, never-the-less. Nothing here had changed to his eyes; the only thing that had really changed was him.

Wincing as he put his hand on the door handle, Jackson tried to tell himself he _should_ be here. Even as a part of him longed to return to London, he knew he couldn’t right now. He couldn’t because the second night after he came back, he had gone to sit with his father in his private hospital room. Jackson had been there long past visiting hours, but the hospital had been willing to overlook it due to two things. First, the Whittemores had been a fundamental part of the hospital’s fund-raising schemes for the last decade, and not a single administrator wanted to anger the family. Second, David Whittemore had been hanging on to life by a thread; chances had been far less than fifty-fifty that his father would see the New Year. So Jackson had sat in David’s room, night after night, while the hospital was quiet around him. 

On that night, perhaps the day before Christmas but he wasn’t sure as the days had all blended together, Jackson had happened to look down at the man in whose house he had grown up. David looked shrunken, fragile, _old_. It hadn't made sense. Things like dying and growing old happened to other people, not to his family. And at that moment, Jackson had known as much as he wanted to go back across the ocean, he was going to stay. He was going to stay in this wretched town drenched in blood, in this terrible place where people he had hurt and who had hurt him still drew breath, because the one thing he knew he couldn’t tolerate was being halfway across the world when word arrived that his father was dead. 

David _was_ his father. There was no swelling music to accompany this realization. No nurses were nearby; no one spied on the scene. With his hearing, he had known that no one was even close to the private room. But still, Jackson had brought his head down next to his father’s, careful not to disturb the IV or the breathing tube and he had whispered, “I love you.” 

The price of those words was now staring him in the face. Jackson straightened his jacket and stepped out of the car. With luck, he would be able to avoid any of the people he didn’t really want to talk to today. 

The administration office was as annoying as he remembered it. Paperwork was the first burden of the day; he had to register for classes. He had to get his transcript from the academy in London to be accepted, and of course, there was only one person who could help. Jackson smiled his best smile at Ms. Martin. Of all the ways to start his return, he was going to do paperwork with his ex-girlfriend’s mother. Natalie wasn’t very friendly towards him, but she wasn’t cold either. Instead, she remained very carefully neutral, and Jackson appreciated that. She was treating him as if he were any other student. 

“You might experience some content overlap in these classes from last year.” Natalie shared. “British schools employ a different philosophy. It might lead to …”

“I wouldn’t mind refreshing my memory,” Jackson offered with false cheer. He’d been pretty bad before at sucking up to authority figures without being obvious; Alexandrina had carefully taken him in hand and helped him refined those skills. 

Carefully, she studied his papers without looking at him. “Lydia doesn’t know you’re back, does she?” 

“No.” Jackson swallowed. “I …”

Ms. Martin hurriedly shook her head. “Just making conversation. I know better than to insert myself into something that is none of my business."

And thankfully, she left it at that. Instead, they finalized his schedule. Ms. Martin kindly pointed out that he would be eligible to play lacrosse if he wanted to, but Jackson wasn’t sure that he wanted to play anymore. What it had given him — being the big man on campus — wasn’t as important to him as it had been before. He was very rich, so he didn’t need the scholarship. Ms. Martin left him in her office while she went out to get some information that the needed

Jackson gazed tiredly at the questionnaire about his school in Britain when a voice shocked him out of his daze. It belonged to Stiles Stilinski; at least he though it did as well as he heard it through the walls. He sharpened his senses. He hadn’t had much time to learn Stiles' scent during the reign of the kanima, so he took his time to make sure it was him. The teen’s voice sounded strange to Jackson ears though. Stiles was, even in the middle of a crisis situation, irreverent to the point of irritation; obviously, it was how Stiles dealt with being an established loser. If you pretended like you didn’t care what people thought about you, you could shield yourself from their disdain. 

Everyone cared what other people thought about them; those who told you that they didn’t were lying. 

But as Stiles sassed Mrs. Haley in the outside office, Jackson heard an interesting change. Stiles wasn’t being pleasantly irreverent to the social studies teacher. Stiles was being mean. “Are you sure that someone with eyes as bad as yours saw what you thought your saw? Janey Campbell texts through your entire class and you never catch her.” 

Mrs. Haley snapped. “Wait in there for Principle Thomas. He’s already called your father.” 

That shut Stiles up. Jackson heard a door open and close; Stiles had been placed in the next conference room. 

It was none of Jackson’s business, but only people who were on the brink of expulsion were placed in the conference room for disciplinary matters. He listened and heard Stiles’ heartbeat rocket. The boy was anxious even though no one was in there with him. Jackson should finish up his paperwork and go to class, but, in the end, he couldn’t help himself. He started stalling. He wanted to know what this was about. 

The Sheriff might not have been far away, because he arrived in ten minutes, talking with the principal.

Principal Thomas’ voice was both concerned and sincere. “I understand that he’s endured some serious trauma with your kidnapping and his medical problems, but my duty to him can’t outweigh my duty to the rest of the children at this school. If he does something like this again, I’m going to have to expel him. As it is, a three-day suspension is pretty much the minimum I can, with good conscience, choose to give him.” 

“I understand. This will be the last time. I’m very grateful for your leniency in this.” The Sheriff had always had a pretty persuasive ‘bureaucratic necessity’ voice. It’s the type of voice you used to talk to someone who had power over you in the great scheme of things. 

Stiles’ father entered the conference room while Principal Thomas went to get the paperwork for the suspension. Jackson thought for maybe ten seconds that he shouldn’t be listening to this, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The idea of Stiles risking expulsion was shocking. Yes, Stiles had stolen a police transport van and kidnapped him, but it had been for a relatively good cause. It was also water under the bridge. That being said, Jackson thirsted to get the inside dirt.

“Would you like to tell me what really happened?” The sheriff sounded more concerned than annoyed.

“You were told what happened. I pushed Scott down the stairs.” Stiles sounded belligerently tired. Both Jackson’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline with that revelation. “It isn’t that hard to do if he doesn’t know what’s coming. Leverage and all that.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before the Sheriff continued. “You know what I mean, Stiles. If there’s something happening that caused this …”

“Nope. Nothing like that.” 

“Then why in the name of all that is holy did you push him down the stairs?” The Sheriff’s voice became annoyed.

“Oh, he pissed me off.” Stiles responded feebly. He sounded weary and not sassy. “Can we just go home now?” 

“No.” The Sheriff pulled out a chair and sat down. “If we go home, you’ll just say you want to go to bed, or you’ll turn the television up too loud, or you’ll say you have homework to do. We’re going to stay here and have the conversation about what’s going on with you that I’ve been trying to have since the day they got that thing out of you. So, we’re going to start with why you pushed Scott down the stairs.”

Jackson could imagine Stiles stubbornly refusing to speak, and his father staring at him, until Stiles gave in. “I told you … he pissed me off.”

“He pissed you off?” 

“You know, Dad, it doesn’t make you sound very intelligent when you start repeating what I say.” Stiles tried to deflect. “He can do that, once in a while, you know. He gets all bossy. Very unattractive really.” 

“Stiles, this isn’t a joke. You could have seriously hurt him.” 

“He’s a werewolf, Dad, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

“Werewolves aren’t invulnerable, Stiles. _You_ know that.” The Sheriff said grimly. “This has become a pattern, and it’s not one I like.” At Stiles’ scoff, the Sheriff began again. “You got into a screaming match with that Ethan fellow in the cafeteria a week after Thanksgiving.”

“Kids have fights.” Stiles protested.

“You stood up in front of nearly fifty students and called him a ‘skeevey faggot’ and asked him if his boyfriend knew he was a murderer.” The sheriff was outraged. “I know you, Stiles. You don’t use words like that. You don’t even think like that. You were provoking him. And then, there was that fistfight with Isaac in the locker room. Every student there said you started it and it got you suspended. And now you pushed Scott down a flight of stairs.”

“I’ve been a little tense,” Stiles said quietly. He sounded ashamed.

The Sheriff slammed his hand on the table. “All three of them are werewolves who lost people to _it_. This isn’t tension; this is self-destructive, and it’s going to stop.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I hurt people you like more than me.” Jackson winced at Stiles’ words. They had been delivered with such … ennui.

The sheriff exhaled slowly as if trying to keep his temper under control. “You know? You’re the one who told me that werewolves can lose control if they’re provoked. But let’s pretend — because it seems you like to pretend nowadays — that this isn’t about Scott or what happened to you. Let’s just pretend that you pushed some nobody down the stairs.”

“And?”

“And … that’s assault, Stiles. You’re going to be suspended for three days as it is, but you could have been expelled. You could have been arrested.” The sheriff’s voice got a little louder. “Do you understand that?”

There was no response that Jackson could hear.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me! This isn’t a joke!” The sheriff shouted. “Do you realize that if I weren’t your father, you’d be in juvie by now?”

“If I was, how would you be able to tell? I never see you anymore.”

The sheriff hissed. “I’m working double shifts, Stiles, because there were twenty-six people who were murdered by a creature wearing your face. I have to make sure that there is no physical evidence linking you to the crimes. I have to lie to people about your medical condition in order to explain to eyewitnesses why you were walking around with sword-wielding maniacs. If it weren’t for Argent’s extensive political connections, I wouldn’t have a prayer of doing it, and … and _this_ … It doesn’t help when I have to get called down to the school.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m such a burden --”

SMACK. Jackson didn’t need to figure out what the sound of a hand to someone’s face sounded like.

“People died to save you, Stiles. I’m at the end of my rope. I suspect that you’re trying to punish yourself, but maybe you should try to scrape up a little goddamn gratitude and not throw the life they died to save away because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

There was a sniffle. 

“I’ve given you a lot of leeway because you’ve been through hell, but I don’t understand why you’d think I’d let you do this to yourself when I would have done anything to keep you alive. I can’t take this anymore, so this is how it’s going to be. First, next time you pick a fight, you go to jail. You’ll be treated like any other teenage criminal. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 5:00 p.m., I will pick you up and take you to your counseling session at Eichen House. Ms. Morrell is still willing to work around your lacrosse practice schedule, if Principal Thomas doesn’t insist you get kicked off the team.”

This brought a protest from Stiles. “Not her! She said she was going to kill me!” 

“I know that. She told me and she explained why. We don’t have a choice! We can’t use just any psychologist, Stiles. If you tell them the truth, they’ll have to tell the police under the Tarasoff duty, and if you don’t tell them the truth, how can they help you? She’s the only licensed psychologist who understands anything about what really happened.”

“I don’t want to see her!”

“You don’t have any choice.” The sheriff was firm. “You _will_ go to see her. If you refuse or if you run away, I’ll have you committed.”

“What?”

“What do you expect me to do, Stiles? I’m not going to let you hurt yourself or others.”

There was a long silence. “Okay.”

“And then, this evening, you and I are going over to Scott’s house and you’re going to apologize to him in front of Melissa.”

“Dad!”

“What you’ve suffered and are suffering are not excuses for your behavior; they’re explanations. If you’re going to act like you’re seven and not seventeen, I’m going to treat you like you’re seven. I know I haven’t been the best father, but it’s never too late to start doing the right thing. Unless Scott did something that warranted you hurting him in a way that might have exposed his secret?”

Stiles remained contrite. “No. No, he didn’t.”

“Good. Now, you are going to get in your car and drive home. When I get home, you and your jeep better be there. I will then take your car keys until I think that you’re well enough to drive.” 

Jackson kept his head down as the Stilinskis left. Something had happened here. Something bad. Why would he think that all the trouble would stop once he was gone? This whole city was cursed.

The first three class periods of the day passed pleasantly enough for Jackson; he made an effort to pay attention. He had always been academically successful up to a certain point. As a student, he knew his flaws. He wasn’t particularly insightful. He didn’t have a perfect memory. He certainly didn’t find all topics interesting. Instead of talent, he had simply worked hard to be successful. He did the homework, he paid attention in class, he attended study groups, and he completed every piece of extra credit that was assigned. It was the same way he had succeeded at lacrosse; he made an effort. For the sport though, he had the extra benefits of natural talent and abiding interest. 

The goal remained the same in both academics and sports and social life. Some people would settle for success in just one of them, but Jackson had always had trouble settling. He never could decide which one was the most important to him, and so he could never bring himself to choose just one. It would have felt like quitting. Even in London, when the only things that really interested him were Alexandrina’s teachings and the Club, he never blew his mundane education off.

He discovered that he wasn’t going to have to any trouble sliding right back into the culture of Beacon Hills High School. Brian had been in his first period class, and the lineman had acted like it was the day after Danny had caught him staring at Jackson’s girlfriend’s “coin slot.” Brian had quizzed him about life in London, like any normal person would. Oddly touched, Jackson had given him an edited story of his time in London. By the time that class was over, it was almost like he had never left.

Almost.

A stark reminder of the difference waited for him in his fourth-period social studies class. Jackson walked in to see Scott McCall sitting by himself near the windows. The werewolf didn’t even notice when Jackson came in, which seemed pretty odd. Yes, Scott hadn’t been the best at employing his new senses when Jackson had left, but that had also been eight months ago, when Scott was newly bitten.

Jackson hesitated at the back of the room letting people file in past him. Curiosity won out in the end. Striding through the classroom as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he took the seat next to his former co-captain. McCall didn’t notice. His head was hanging slightly forward, and he was staring at the cover of his text book, though he was clearly not seeing it. McCall’s right eye was bruised and there was a cut on his forehead that was still fresh, though someone had closed it with butterfly bandages. It looked like the work of the school nurse.

“McCall?” 

Scott didn’t answer him, which was weird. Even if he were completely human, he should have heard that.

“McCall!” 

The other werewolf startled. “What? Oh. Oh!” His eyes goggled as if he was suddenly overwhelmed by sensation. “Jackson.” The boy offered a small smile, stunted by his surprise. “You’re back!”

“Obviously.” Jackson intended to sneer but he stopped. Something about the other werewolf’s presence made him feel a little on edge. “What the hell is wrong with you, McCall?”

“Oh, I’ve got a few things on my mind. It’s no big deal. I didn’t know you were coming back. How was London?”

“London was great; it sure beats this place.” To be honest, Jackson was taken aback by the uneasiness in Scott’s demeanor. He didn’t want to make small talk; he wanted to know what had changed in the time he was away. Even on the wrong foot, McCall seemed honestly glad to see him. “What’s this?” Jackson pointed at the bruise and the cut with a circular movement, as if drawing attention to it.

“Oh.” Scott touched the cut. “Oh, there was an accident in front of the whole school.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper, knowing that Jackson could hear it easily. “I couldn’t let it heal.”

“That’s smart. So you’re going to walk around with a shiner for a few days. That’s going to take some concentration.”

“I guess. You’re back for good?” 

“Don’t know.” Jackson decided not to press Scott on what ‘accident’ had caused the injuries. “We should probably talk about that.”

“Not here. I’ve got lunch next period.” Scott glanced outside. “If you do too, we could meet at the bleachers.”

Jackson consented but he continued to watch Scott throughout the class. The other werewolf’s pleasant demeanor didn’t hold up to even slight scrutiny. Jackson had mastered the art of faking it, so his own senses peeled away the rather clumsy attempt that the other teen made at seeming normal. McCall was tired, but in a different way than Stiles. Where the human seemed sleep deprived, the werewolf was exhausted, in the way only people enduring chronic pain could be exhausted. Jackson was reminded of his aunt who had suffered nerve damage which caused nearly unendurable, constant pain. Certain medications helped, but it had sapped her of all vitality. 

There was no sign of McCall when he reached the bleachers during lunch. Jackson settled himself down and started eating. Given how much the other werewolf seemed so out of it, it wouldn’t surprise Jackson if he wasn’t going to be prompt. 

Scott eventually appeared, walking slowly across the empty lacrosse field. He wordlessly sat down a respectful distance from Jackson. Scott wasn’t making any assumptions about their relationship. 

“So.” Jackson finished off his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I’m back. I’d love to say that I have no intention of getting involved in anything, but that’s not possible.” 

Scott sagged slightly in the shoulders. “Is there a problem?”

“No crisis, but I did a lot of …” Jackson hesitated as he thought about how to say this. “I did a lot of work overseas, and I’m not interested in tossing it away.”

Scott nodded in relief. “Okay. What do you need?”

“I need to talk to Derek.” Jackson would have given anything not to have to have this discussion, but he wasn’t as stubborn as he was before. “A lot of what I learned about my condition …” He paused and started again. “My continued supernatural health depends on the emotional grounding of a pack. As much as I wasn’t impressed with Derek as an alpha, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Ooof. About that.”

Jackson grimaced in derision. “Derek didn’t just abandon this place, did he?”

Instead of answering him, Scott turned his head so they were on the same level. His eyes glowed the unmistakable alpha red.

Jackson held his breath for five seconds, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Scott let the glow in his eyes die. He didn’t react to Jackson’s outburst.

“I can’t believe that you’d …”

“No!” Scott shook his head in denial. “Derek’s not an alpha anymore, but I didn’t kill him!”

Silence hung between them for the space of a minute before Jackson angrily gestured for more.

“Derek gave up his alpha power to heal his sister, Cora. You’ve not met her. She’d been supernaturally poisoned, and it was the only way to save her. It was … really cool of him to do that.” 

Remembering all the anger Scott had had towards Derek for his power play of biting teenagers to fight his war, this must have gone a long way to settling any animosity between the two. “So how did you …”

“Does it matter?” Scott stood up. “You need a pack, you said.”

Jackson hesitated. Acknowledging that he needed an alpha would have been bad enough with a loser like Derek, but telling Scott that he needed to forge an intimate connection with him? It would be like drinking vinegar. He clenched his jaw and prepared to unleash a stream of mockery which would force Scott’s jaw to straighten on its accord. But he didn’t.

Nothing could let him avoid the truth of the situation. If he was going to remain in Beacon Hills for this semester at least in order to be with his father, he needed an alpha. Otherwise, all of Alexandrina’s techniques would be useless, and he would be just as vulnerable to uncontrolled reversion as he had been before he had found the Club. And as much as he could feel the irritable itch along his spine when he felt the alpha power within Scott, he couldn’t argue that they were rivals any more. He couldn’t deny that he owed Scott and Scott’s pack his life. He couldn’t deny that being a petty bitch right here and right now would be equivalent to shooting himself in the foot. 

_Maybe,_ Jackson thought, _I’m just tired of doing that._

“Yeah, I do.”

“Give me a moment.” 

Scott walked away from him. At first, Jackson thought he was leaving, but the alpha had left his backpack on the metal bleachers. Scott did a complete circle of the field before coming back to him. 

“Okay. I don’t …” Scott stopped, took a breath, and started again. “I don’t know if I can be the alpha you need, but I’m willing to try if you are. I have only one … condition.” 

Jackson raised one eyebrow as a query.

“I need you to help Stiles.” 

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, I think.”

“How about you come with me to Derek’s loft after school. He hasn’t answered any of my texts, and I’m getting worried.”

“Derek … answers … texts?” 

This forced a laugh out of Scott. “Sometimes. Come, I need back up to explain all this to you.”


	3. The Dark Moon (Part 2: Least Visible in the Sky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Scott investigate Derek's disappearance. They meet Lydia and Stiles at the Animal Clinic.

At his first sight of Derek’s loft, Jackson couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “Of course. I can’t possibly imagine any place that would fit him better as Derek Hale’s House of Melodrama. I bet he broods directly in front of that window.” 

The sarcasm had barely left his mouth when he caught up with what his sense of smell was telling him. There was a pervasive yet faint smell of gunpowder and smoke, accompanied by several different people’s blood. He dropped his claws in reaction. Of course, there had been violence. Why should he even be surprised?

“Don’t worry,” Scott said calmly. “Whatever happened here happened a while ago.” The alpha walked around the room. “The alarm was on. Do me a favor and check to see if Derek’s upstairs?” 

“You seem remarkably … undisturbed by this.” Jackson was taken aback. 

“I’ve learned how to tell how long blood’s been lying around. This stuff is at least six days old.” Scott shrugged, his shoulders sagging afterwards. “It’s amazing what you learn when you have to.”

Jackson went upstairs. It was just as Spartan as the quarters below. Yeah, the werewolf who had bit him still had the taste of a masochistic monk. At least Jackson didn’t find a body up here. This part of the loft had no sign of violence. He came back down the stairs to find the alpha on his hands and knees near a table, sniffing the floor.

“I think Derek might have been right here; he was bleeding, though not much. There were other people as well, but I can’t really place who or what they were.” Scott wrinkled his nose. “They used smoke bombs.”

“Could it have been hunters?” 

“Maybe,” Scott admitted, reluctantly. “I don’t want to speculate until we know more.”

“How are we going to find out more? Call the police?”

“No.” Scott held up a bullet casing and snapped a picture on his phone and then tossed it to Jackson. “I’m sending a picture to Deaton.”

“Your … boss?” The casing had a stylized skull inscribed on it. 

“My Emissary.” Scott looked up from where he was on the floor gathering shells. “You learned about those in London?” 

Alexandrina had an Emissary, and she had taken Jackson to meet him once. Colin was massively built for someone nearing sixty; on the surface, he was more physically imposing than most werewolves Jackson had met, though the druid made it clear that he didn’t underestimate the power of the creatures he advised. The rustic nature of his home made it clear that Colin preferred to live on a farm in the Surrey Hills. The alpha had brought Jackson to the druid’s home and they had spent an afternoon. Colin had obviously wanted to get a good look at the kanima.

“Help me pick up the rest of the casings.” Scott interrupted his musings while continued searching the floor. “Dr. Deaton used to be Talia Hale’s Emissary. People said he was retired, but … I think he became mine because he knew I needed one so badly.”

“Why didn’t he become Derek’s Emissary?” 

“I don’t think he wanted to. First time they met … Derek acted pretty awfully towards him. Beat him up. Kidnapped him. Accused him of being the alpha.”

That matched with Jackson’s experience. Colin made it clear that while he liked and respected Alexandrina, he was nowhere near a servant and would resent being treated as such. 

“Isn’t that Derek’s standard approach to everyone?” 

“Derek’s gotten a lot better. Don’t look so shocked, I mean it. I understand a lot more about the pressures he was under now.” Scott didn’t look back to Jackson as he searched the room. “Sometimes every answer is a bad one.”

The weight in Scott’s voice hit Jackson pretty hard. What the fuck had gone on here? No reaction to blood or violence was one thing, but this weariness was … very different than the McCall he remembered.

“That’s one hell of a coincidence.” Jackson joked. 

“Hmmmm. What?”

“Your boss happens to be an Emissary and you happen get bitten.” 

“I guess.” 

Jackson looked around half-heartedly. He didn’t see any more casings. 

“I don’t see any more.” Jackson couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. “Maybe, he …”

“No!” Scott shouted and stood up. His eyes glowed red. “I’m not going to doubt him, Jackson! You may be able to survive without caring for anyone, but I can’t. Not everyone has a secret agenda. Not everyone is going to turn on me!”

Jackson put up both hands. “Whoa there, McCall. Projecting much?”

Scott stood there, steaming, but he didn’t say anything.

“I was just saying that maybe when Peter was in full psycho-killer mode, he caught Deaton’s scent on you. He reacted to something that reminded him of the time before the fire. Maybe.”

The rage went out of Scott’s eyes and his posture. “I’m … I’m sorry. It’s been a rough couple of months.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “That was … that was pretty insightful.”

“I studied more than maths in London.” Jackson used the British phrasing. “I picked up a few things.”

Scott nodded in acceptance of that story. “I think that’s all of them. Can you sense anything that I can’t? Given you’ve picked up a few things.” 

“There was a fight.”

“Yeah. There was. But if they were just going to kill Derek, they wouldn’t have bothered taking him anywhere.”

“Unless …” Jackson shrugged. He was thinking that Derek was actually his cousin. He hadn’t realized that before. “Unless they were planning to take the body elsewhere to dispose of it.”

“Why bother cleaning up and then leave these very distinctive shotgun shells?” Scott’s phone beeped with a text. “Deaton says the symbol is the mark of a Mexican hunting family called the Calaveras. I’ve got to make a few calls.”

Jackson walked around the dimly-lit loft, carefully not to eavesdrop on _this_ conversation. He had been so dismissive of Derek, so eager to blame the older werewolf for his problems, that he felt something resembling guilt since it was obvious that something happened to him. He suddenly had more family than the Whittemores, and they were in trouble. But did he want to claim them? Peter was problematic, but Peter had always been problematic. Coming back and seeing McCall so worried about someone the now-alpha had spent so much time locked in a struggle with not more than a year ago put things in perspective. But that was exactly like McCall; he had cared even about Jackson.

But that was exactly the question. He knew what McCall was like, but what was _he_ like? Jackson didn’t really know, though he would have sneered at that question last year. How had he changed? Did he want more family? He needed an alpha; that was clear to Jackson, because he wanted to be in control of his own life and the techniques that Alexandrina had taught him required one. He could make peace with it because Scott wasn’t going to demand much from him. Did he want to be a real member of the pack, or was this a convenient stopgap? He wasn’t prepared to answer any of these questions.

“Okay, we’re going to meet at the clinic.” Scott announced, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want.”

“Well, that’s …”

“Lydia’s going to be there.” 

Jackson’s mouth flattened out into the line. Thinking of questions that he didn’t want to find the answers to: was he ready to see Lydia? Would he ever be? Instead of answering those questions, Jackson went for the easy out. 

“She’s pack?”

Scott blinked as if he didn’t understand the question. “I keep forgetting you don’t know … I’m not sure that I want to tell you about what happened with Lydia, because I think it would be better coming from her. When we assumed that nothing happened with Peter’s bite, we were wrong.” 

Jackson took a step forward. There was too much happening. Too many questions. Too much risk.

“But she’s going to be there, because if we want to find out what happened to Derek, she’s the exact person we need. I’ll understand if you want to wait to speak to her.”

“No.” Jackson straightened up and jutted out his jaw. He would lie. “It’s not a problem.”

**********

“And now my night is complete.” Those were the first words Lydia Martin spoke after she entered the back room at the Animal Clinic to find Scott standing at the metal examination table with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and Jackson was lurking in the corner of the wall with his arms crossed. Stiles entered directly behind Lydia, and Jackson was drawn immediately to the very carefully constructed blank look upon his face. Lydia’s displeased face was almost as familiar to Jackson as his own; this particular variation was a protective disguise. As he had suspect she would, she wasn’t sure what she felt about her ex-boyfriend being back. Stiles’ face was new.

“I …” Scott began to explain, apologetically. Of course, he took her sass at face value. 

“No need,” Lydia cut him off with a raise of her hand. “There is no scenario in which Jackson and I meet again that wouldn’t cause one or both of us immense pain, so I’m just grateful that it’s happening in private with an appropriate support system in place. That being said, I want something clearly understood: I have little tolerance for bullshit right now. All four of us have gone through things in the last year that should require at least three to six months of continual therapy, which I suspect that none of us are getting. I acknowledge it, but I’m also not interested in a trauma-measuring competition. So if this degrades into some exercise in over-aggressive self-destruction …” She glared at Stiles who goggled at her. “Or some attempt at pointless martyrdom.” She glared at Scott, who glanced down at the floor. “I will leave and go back to my homework, Prada, and a glass of wine I lifted from the kitchen without my mother noticing. I’m sorry, Jackson, I’m not sure what trauma-managing techniques you are currently employing.”

“Mostly rampant hedonism alternating with stony silences,” Jackson replied, rolling his shoulders. Inwardly, he suppressed a smile. It wasn’t always bad with Lydia; they worked off of each other very well.

“Sounds wonderful.” Lydia turned to Scott. “So, I trust that something else has gone wrong in the ever-entertaining supernatural aspect of this shitty town.”

Scott explained how he had lost contact with Derek, and what he and Jackson had discovered when they went to his loft. Stiles made some sort of lame attempt at humor by suggesting that Derek never returned texts, but it didn’t take an empath to see it for what was: a pathetic attempt at pretending to be normal. Anyone who knew him would expect Stiles to be light-hearted and irreverent in an attempt to diffuse the situation, but everyone in this room could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. Scott went on to talk about the Calaveras and his suspicion that they had kidnapped Derek. Jackson would never say it out loud, but Scott sounded confident in his conclusions, which was better than the frantic pleading Scott had used when he was trying to convince Jackson he was the kanima.

Then the alpha handed the bullet casings to Lydia, who poured a handful out of them out on the table for a reason that Jackson couldn’t grasp. The faraway look in her eye was freaky. Her conclusions were freaky. The way Scott and Stiles listened to her intently was freaky. Jackson very decidedly did not mention how freaky he found all of this. 

“Mexico,” Scott decided. Firmly. 

“Wait a minute. Just wait a minute.” Jackson stepped forward in disbelief. “I want to make sure that I understand this. You’re going to go to Mexico to track down a family of hunters who _might_ have kidnapped Derek. Are you insane?”

“Of course, it’d be stupid to go alone. I’ll take any member of the pack who wants to go with me.” Scott gestured to all of them. “But I am not insisting anyone go.”

“Well, that’s good, because the semester just started, and I really wanted to finish senior year before I _die!_ ” Jackson was indignant. Scott himself, Derek, and Alexandrina had all stressed how dangerous the old hunting families were. Lydia rolled her eyes at him. “You can’t possibly think this was a good idea, Lydia. They’re hunters. With guns. Who know how to use them.”

Lydia looked at Scott, and that glance told Jackson all he needed to know. She might complain about what they were doing, but she would go. 

Scott had noticed her glance at him as well; the exhaustion that had Jackson had watched plague him before had momentarily vanished. “I told you; Derek’s been there for us. We’re going to rescue him. You don’t have to come.”

“Look, is there no one else we can go to? I mean, Scott, school just started. They don’t teach hostage rescue until senior year at least. I’m trying to get my life back; I don’t want to throw it away for some has-been alpha who can’t keep his nose out of trouble!” 

Stiles had not been paying attention; once his question had been answered, he had focused somewhere else on something else. His eyes examined something only he could see on the table’s clean surface. At Jackson’s extravagant protest, Stiles lifted his head to look the werewolf directly in the eyes. “I don’t think anyone here is surprised that you don’t want to come.” His voice had no inflection. It was accusing without being emotional. It was cold. 

“I … I didn’t say … this go-getter attitude is a little new to me.” Jackson suddenly found himself on the defensive. He had always been prepared for people to meet his outburst without outburst of their own. It gave Jackson distance. One of the things that really grated on him about McCall was the way that Scott just absorbed anger directed at him, only replying when his own frustration compelled him to. On the other hand, Stiles’ present response was less irritating and more unsettling. This was not how the spazzy teen had usually acted. Of course, Jackson had been intrigued when he heard that Testicles Left and Right had had a very public fight. But this — this was startling as well as extraordinarily intriguing. Jackson suddenly wanted to make sure that Stiles didn’t think too badly of him.

Jackson and Stiles locked eyes across the table. 

“Sure, I’ll go.” Jackson directed it at Stiles. “I’m tired of life anyway.”

And in a flash, the old Stiles was back. “I’m going to spend hours in a car with Jackson Whittemore. What type of music goes the best with douchebags?” It was just as much of a mask as it was before, put on for their benefit.

Before Jackson could reply, Lydia took him by the wrist. “Now, while you boys plan this thing out, I’m going to take Jackson outside for a personal conversation. No eavesdropping!”

“I won’t,” Scott promised. Stiles frowned at the promise; he obviously wanted to listen in on the conversation.

The breeze made them shiver outside. After all, they were nearly two weeks into January and even in California, things could get chilly. Jackson and Lydia walked at an easy pace down the alleyway with a respectful distance between them. At a certain distance, Lydia turned around, frowning at the detritus in the alley. This wasn’t her usual stomping ground.

“So, how have you been?” 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Like you care.”

A frown flashed across Lydia’s features quickly replaced with determination. “Look, Jackson, if you want to fight with me, I’m game. I’ll give as good as I can get. Or we can talk like two people who meant something to each other but haven’t seen each other in eight months. I’d prefer the latter.”

Jackson grimaced. “Sorry. Reflex. Let’s talk.”

“How’s your father?”

Jackson’s face softened with warmth. He couldn’t help it.

“Of course I knew when your father was in the hospital, Jackson. Give me a little credit.” 

“He’s getting better. It was … it was touch and go there for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t call you or …”

Lydia waved his apology away. “You were where you needed to be. I knew you were home, but I also knew that the last thing you needed was me being a weepy mess in your face while you were trying to deal with everything. I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”

“We’re not sure yet if he’s going to be okay. And I’ve never known you to be a weepy mess, Lydia.” He chuckled. “One of the reasons we were together was that you weren’t like all the other girls.”

Lydia’s face studied his. “Oh, God. You don’t know, do you? You don’t know what’s been happening here.”

“Uhm. Should I? I kind of cut everyone off when I left.”

Lydia put a hand over her mouth. “Jackson, Allison died.” She couldn’t look at him directly immediately after telling him that, turning away. “A lot of people died.”

Jackson wasn’t going out with Lydia anymore, and, deep down, he knew he didn’t want to. Eventually, they would have to talk about that. But even if he had no desire to be more than a friend, it didn’t mean he couldn’t comfort her when she needed it. “I’m so sorry. I knew she was important to you.” He reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Jackson didn’t contemplate that Allison had been important to him as well; that would make it seem real.

“She was. She died saving me.” Lydia turned around with a defiant smile and tears in her eyes. “I’m … I’m just surprised you hadn’t heard.”

He didn’t let go of her shoulder. “Lydia. Lydia, considering how and why I left, I really did cut everyone off. Even my parents. I didn’t ask about Beacon Hills and I didn’t tell anyone what was going on with me. Not even Danny. I thought …”

“You thought that we’d be better off without you. Of course.” She wiped at her eyes. “You shouldn’t think that. You’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.”

It was a joke designed to lighten the mood. _God,_ Jackson thought, _when did we start avoiding the truth by reflex?_ “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Lydia stood straighter. “But I should.”

So she did. She didn’t go into elaborate detail, which left Jackson with a mental list of five dozen things he wanted clarification on. She did not get emotional, though he could tell that was an effort for her. She talked about an Alpha Pack coming for Derek and Scott and how they caused the death of Erica and Boyd. She talked about an English teacher slash dark druid sacrificing people for revenge upon that same Alpha Pack, who seduced Derek and nearly killed Lydia. She talked about the kidnapping of Scott’s, Stiles’ and Allison’s parents and the ritual drowning they undertook to save them. She talked about Scott's ascension to be a True Alpha. She talked about the mental instability that had plagued all three of the guardians, and how she had tried to help Allison as much as she could while the hunter was being haunted by her aunt. Finally, she talked about the oni, about Kira and her mother, and about the terrifying nogitsune. She talked about it taking her while wearing Stiles’ face, and how it had terrorized the whole city to feed its appetite for pain. She whispered how it had ordered the oni to kill Allison and how she had died in Scott’s arms. She explained that Isaac and Mr. Argent had taken the captive spirit somewhere it could be contained.

“Well, fuck me.” 

“That is one way of describing it.” Lydia shook her head. “The pack isn’t in good shape.”

“You’re pack?” 

“I am.” She tilted her chin as if daring him to make something of it. “As much as things have been terrible, it would have been worse without us.”

Jackson didn’t know where the hell this Lydia had come from. “You _really_ believe that.”

Lydia tossed her head in answer. 

Jackson didn’t let the amazement show on his face. “I asked to join the pack. Do you have a problem with that?” 

“I’m curious as to why you’d want to. It doesn’t seem your style. Don’t be offended.”

“I’m not, but … I learned things … a lot of things … in England. I learned ways of dealing with what happened and with what I am. They _work._ I’m here for my father, but while I’m here, I don’t want to lose control. I need an alpha.”

“You’re in luck,” Lydia teased. “We have one. What did Scott say?”

“He said yes, on the condition that I try to help Stiles. Still have no idea how I’m going to do that.”

Lydia thought about it. “That’s smart. That’s really smart. You’ll be able to figure out why when you put your mind to it; I have every faith in you.”

Jackson was taken aback. She wasn’t being sarcastic. He thought for a moment about pressing her, but he decided to ask the other question that was bothering him. “What did you do back there? With the bullet casings?”

For a moment, he thought she was going to lie to him, but she must have realized not only how stupid it would be but also how unnecessary. “It turns out that there was a reason I didn’t turn. I was immune to the bite because I’m a … banshee.”

“What?” Jackson blinked. He had heard of them. There were a few fae that hung around the club. 

Lydia assumed he didn’t know what that was. “I am a harbinger of death. I can hear its approach — among other things — and I’ll scream when it comes close. It’s quite annoying really.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that in your story?”

“Because … because I don’t really understand how to control it, and I hate not understanding anything.” She shrugged. “Peter said he would help me, but he’s about as helpful as a WikiHow article.”

At the mention of his biological father’s name, Jackson involuntarily tensed. He hoped Lydia wouldn’t notice. “That’s how he …”

“Yes. He must have known what I was, somehow, and used my powers to bring himself back from the dead. I am plotting his ultimate destruction, when I get around to it. And …” She trailed off. 

“Is that why you were able to reach me?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Everyone across the sea that I worked with was shocked that I came back to myself. This explains it.” Jackson smiled and he meant it. “Can I give you a hug?”

“If you keep acting like a gentleman, Jackson, I’ll become suspicious.” They did hug though.

While he had her in his embrace, he whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t matter how you were able to do it. You did, and you did it because you love me. I won’t forget that.”

She breaks out of the embrace. “Hopefully, Stiles will have come up with a plan by now to get Derek away from the Calaveras. I need to go and poke a few holes in it.” 

Together they walked back into the clinic.


	4. The Dark Moon (Part 3:  Grief and Loss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson joins the pack on their Mexican rescue of Derek Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This borrows some dialogue directly from the episode "The Dark Moon."

Mescal kept you on your toes. It wasn’t as popular in Britain as it was in Mexico (or the United States) but Jackson had encountered it before. Its nature was inherently sneaky; the liquor would wait until you least expected it and wallop you right across the brain pan. He maneuvered through the press of the crowd, carrying a tray with beer and shot glasses to the table where Kira was waiting for him.

“Is that alcohol?” Kira asked, adorably and expectedly. 

“We’re supposed to blend in. This is blending in.”

Jackson placed both beers and both shots of mescal on the table between them. The tables were old and sturdy and smelled of mescal themselves. Kira reacted with a look similar to what Socrates must have had when they brought him the cup of hemlock. Jackson liked Kira. She was way too innocent to be doing something like this, but she had insisted on coming with them. Jackson figured that she wanted to get on Scott’s good side. Lydia had told him the bare-bones story about what she had gone through, being kidnapped by a spree killer, finding out that she and her mother were kitsune (and that her mother was 900 years old), and having to battle demons summoned by her mother and controlled by the possessed Stiles. Kira was anxious, but it was not because she was insecure about herself. She had been sheltered by her family from the supernatural. Her reactions, to Jackson, were … normal. 

He had e-mailed Alexandrina about what to expect from thunder kitsune. She had sent a short but succinct reply where she had stressed the unpredictable nature of such creatures. At this age, as young as Kira was, she was literally two people slowly becoming one. Her human side would be as normal a human being as she was raised — and from Jackson’s point of view, Kira had certainly been raised as an average teenager — while her fox side would be a spirit who had learned skills on a plane far away from this one. Thunder kitsune were aggressive and preferred direct methods of dealing with their problems. Until the two sides of the being learned to balance each other, Alexandrina warned, expect bursts of overwhelming power mixed with chaos and powerlessness. Jackson had promised the British alpha all the news he could give in return.

“Do I have to drink it?” 

“At least sip on the beer. I know this much alcohol won’t affect me.” Jackson had been exposed to certain liquors that could while in London. He missed it. Technically, a werewolf could get drunk if they drank enough booze quickly enough. However, the speed and amount would kill a human, and the point was to blend in with other American tourists. It was important, as this local Mexican club was actually a front for the hunting family. 

Kira did as she was instructed, smiling through the taste even though Jackson could tell she didn’t like it. She was most likely going to be partial to fruity umbrella drinks, he could tell. He pounded back one of the shots.

“What are we supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Wait.” 

“Did you see Scott?” 

“Nope, and that’s a good thing.” He smiled at her and leaned his head over the table as if she were his girlfriend in order to whisper. “If they think that Derek is Scott’s beta — and they don’t have a reason not to — they’re going to look for him to come. We’re guessing that they don’t know that I’m back or that you’re pack, so they may not be looking for us. That’s an advantage. And, if we haven’t seen him, it’s a good indication that they haven’t seen him.”

“Maybe Malia should have come instead.” 

Jackson shrugged. 

In the end, Stiles had been the one who had convinced the were-coyote not to come. His reasoning had been sound, as far as Jackson could tell. She had only been returned to human form since mid-October; three months was not a very long time to learn how to act like a seventeen-year-old girl should. All they needed was for her to make a slip that alerted the hunters before they were ready. It didn’t help that Mr. Tate was, understandably, very reluctant for Malia to leave his sight overnight even for a fake camping trip. He had caught her slipping out to visit Stiles at least once, and he had started obsessively checking her bedroom at different hours of the night. It really didn’t take much to convince Malia; she didn’t know Derek and didn’t see a reason to risk her (or Stiles’) life for him. Stiles assured them all that it was progress.

He slammed the other shot back; it burned on the way down. No need for good mescal to go to waste.

Kira kicked him under the table. When he looked up, she was glancing over his left shoulder. She dropped her eyes afterward, and Jackson, with deliberate casualness, looked over his shoulder. Stiles and Lydia had appeared in the club, strangely looking adorably anxious but determined at the same time. They made their way through the crowd towards the bar. Jackson made sure to take only a short glimpse at them at first. “I’m gonna finish this beer, and then we can dance.”

“I’m no good at dancing to music like this.”

Jackson chuckled. “You don’t have to be good. You just have to be convincing.”

Extending a hand, Jackson pulled her onto the dance floor. She wasn’t his type, but there was no doubt that she was a very beautiful girl. It hadn’t taken much to figure out that she and Scott had something between them, even if it wasn’t a serious relationship yet. There had once been a time that he might have romanced Kira as a power play, like he had once done to Allison. 

Allison. Jackson had thought a lot about her on the trip south from Beacon Hills. He’d seen death — hell, he’d caused death, his eyes bore testament to that — but there was something wrong with Allison dying. She had been both powerful and innocent at the same time. It made as little sense as the thought of his father dying. It was wrong. He didn’t realize how much this news would trouble him, but it did make clear how important the hunter had been to him in the short time they had known each other. She had seen through him, and yet she was still willing to tolerate him. No, more than that. She was still willing to save him.

To banish these thoughts, Jackson leaned in while they were dancing. Well, he was dancing; Kira was doing a passable imitation of a seizure. “Relax. Think about dancing with Scott.”

The words didn’t have the effect he desired. Kira’s face fell and her movements became less vigorous. “I don’t know …”

Sympathy cost nothing. Jackson caught Kira’s eyes on purpose.

She stepped closer and whispered in his ear. “I feel like a vulture. I mean, he held her in his arms as she died, killed by things my mother summoned. How can he … sometimes he looks at me like he …” She shook her head in shame. “It must be the beer. Forget I said anything.”

“He might just need time.” He whispered back. “And Scott McCall would never hold you responsible for the actions of someone else. Trust me. I know from personal experience.” 

Kira looked up, only slightly confused. Someone must have filled her in on what had happened but maybe they hadn’t give her the whole story. Then the kitsune’s eyes widened. “Something’s happening.”

###### 

Jackson watched the Calaveras drag the tasered Scott out of the holding area and force Kira out at gunpoint. By the way Stiles coiled himself, Jackson thought for a moment that the human was going to lunge at the hunters. He debated intervening if that happened; Scott wouldn’t be happy if he let Stiles get hurt.

But the rusted metal door slammed shut and Stiles unspooled against a wall, slumping down until he was sitting on the concrete floor.

For his part, Jackson was leaning up against one of the pillars in the room. His senses told him quite clearly for what purpose this room had been used, and he wanted to avoid contact with the floor for as long as possible. He crossed his arms to show how undisturbed he was by the whole situation. It struck him as funny that he would make the effort; Stiles was the only one in the room.

Stiles didn’t fail to notice the gesture. “Is this _boring_ you?”

“I’m in the holding cell of a hunting family that makes the Argents look like elementary-school teachers. There’s been so much blood spilt in this room that I can’t tell the difference in the scents. So, _no_ , I’m not bored.”

Stiles snorted. “Would you like to do something rather than stand there and look pretty?”

“You think I look pretty?”

“Fuck you, Jackson.”

“I’m listening, asshole.” Jackson was indeed trying to listen to where they were taking Scott and Kira. He was also trying to locate Lydia, who had yet been brought back to the room. “Or, I would be, if someone wasn’t distracting me.” 

That shut the human up. Jackson went back to trying to sort out the sounds. It was difficult; the fact that they had incorporated a night club into their headquarters made it hard to focus. He doubted that it was a lucky accident. Maximum-volume electronica would effectively counter supernatural hearing. 

Jackson found Scott’s heartbeat. The alpha must still be unconscious. Jackson found Araya’s right hand man, Severo, talking to Kira in a different location. He hadn’t located either Araya or Lydia yet, but it seemed that the hunters weren’t in any hurry. Isolation seemed to be a key to their strategy. Jackson glanced up to see Stiles still sitting up against the wall, gnawing at his thumb in worry.

“That’s not good.”

Stiles startled. “What?”

“Chewing on your cuticles like that.” At Stiles’ irritated face, Jackson smirked. “Nothing happening’s right now.” 

“I’m _sorry_ if I’m worried about our friends. It’s something real people do when they care about others.”

“Uh-huh. I guess I don’t care, even though I supplied the money to buy Derek back, which I’m probably not going to be able to get back. And you care, which is why you pushed Scott down the staircase, because you were _worried_ about him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it shut so hard even a human could have heard the teeth click. His furor filled the room but so did other, vaguer emotions, which Jackson really didn’t want to have to pull out of him. So they glared at each other for almost a minute.

“Don’t get pissed at me, Stiles. The whole school heard about it.”

Jackson wasn’t about to share his exploration of the art of eavesdropping. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but he didn’t want to push the human too far. ‘Helping Stiles’ probably didn’t entail getting into a fistfight with him.

“I had my reasons.” 

“Well, no shit. If you didn’t have any reasons for doing it, people would be a lot more nervous.”

His words found their mark. Stiles’ eyes narrowed and his emotions intensified. It should have led to an explosion, but once more instead there was a cold control that looked so odd on the human’s face. Jackson found it just as fascinating as the first time he had noticed it.

“Lydia told you.” Stiles’ voice was rougher, slower, more menacing for its lack of volume.

“Of course she told me.” Jackson acted offended. “Shouldn’t she have told me? She was the one kidnapped. She was the one that lost her best friend. But she should keep it to herself so you don’t feel uncomfortable?”

“You can’t understand …” Stiles began with icy fury but he trailed off when he realized what he had been about to say. 

Jackson kept staring at him and tilted his head to the side while keeping the best _bitch, please_ look he could on his face. Another minute passed as they stared at each other. The Calaveras were certainly taking their time.

“I pushed Scott down the stairs because I thought he was hiding something from me.” 

Surprised, Jackson could feel his eyebrows crawl up his face in surprise in a way that would have made his cousin Derek proud.

“I thought … I thought that something was happening and he was hiding it from me, because he thought that I was too weak and fragile to be any use. I wanted to remind him that he wasn’t … I wanted him to understand that I might be human, but that didn’t mean he was invulnerable.”

“By trying to kill him?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him!”

“You just told me you wanted to prove to Scott that he wasn’t invulnerable. How much damage can a werewolf’s brain take before it can’t heal anymore? I don’t know. Scott doesn’t know. And you don’t know. And even if it had just been something as minor as a broken neck, how would Scott have explained his rapid recovery? Unless you wanted him to walk around for a neck brace for six months while he suppressed his healing.”

Stiles frowned and looked away. It was obvious that he hadn’t thought through his actions. 

“As for him hiding things from you. He’s the alpha. Every other alpha on the planet makes the decision about what pack should and shouldn’t do. Unless you don’t want to be pack?” 

He heard Stiles’ teeth grind in irritation. He still wasn’t looking at Jackson when he spoke again. 

“Do you remember the time before all this, when everyone was happy?”

Jackson was about to shoot back a scathing reply when he suddenly heard Scott’s voice: **“Let her go. Look … you’ve got me. Just let the others go.”** Scott was talking to someone, and Jackson had been allowed himself to be distracted by focusing on Stiles.

“No.” Jackson reply was bitter even as he tried to figure out if Scott had been moved. “If you’ll remember, I had sufficient psychological problems to turn into a velociraptor, so I don’t remember a time when I was happy.” 

He picked out Severo Calaveras’ voice. **“Your hand goes here. So let me explain what’s about to happen. This one, the fox, has an immunity to electricity, so she’s going to turn the dial on the alpha.”** Kira had been moved to Scott was. That was good.

“You got me there. Sorry.” Stiles said it so softly that Jackson knew he meant it. “I remember when we were happy. I thought, after my mom died, that I wasn’t going to be happy. That I wasn’t supposed to be happy. But then, there was Scott.” 

Jackson knew about their bromance. The whole school did. **“If she doesn’t, I turn the dial on the banshee.”** Jackson tensed realizing that Lydia must be there and that it was nowhere he wanted her to be. He hesitated to share what he had heard with Stiles. He wanted to know more.

 **“No, I’m not doing this.”** It was Kira’s voice. She sounded horrified, and Severo’s voice was sinister and insistent. **“Are you sure? One of your friends has the power to heal. The other? Not so much.”**

“We did everything together. We got in trouble together. We had fun together. We were so close. He was my best friend. He was my brother. People can’t understand how important it was to have someone who seemed to need me as much as Scott needed me, who I needed as much as I needed Scott. It was so great. Scott’s an easy-going guy; all he wanted was a girlfriend, to play lacrosse, to help puppies. All the plans were mine. I was the leader.” 

“So you’re upset that Scott’s the leader now.”

**“What are you doing? Is this a game to you?”**

**“This is a test, lobito. Let’s see if you pass.”** Araya explained to Scott. **“We’re going to ask some questions. You answer them, nobody gets hurt. You don’t answer them, we turn on the dial.”**

Stiles gave him a glare that could have curdled milk. “Maybe. But the thing that really bothers me is that … Scott is better than me.”

**“Do what they say. Okay, whatever they want. I can take it.”**

Jackson thought about six different responses to that but given his own history, thought better of it. He put his hand over his mouth to cover his reactions to the promise of torture elsewhere.

**“So … We don’t know where Derek is. We want to find him as well. You know who took him.”**

**“What? How would I know that?”**

**“That doesn’t sound like an answer to me.”**

**“We don’t know. Why do you think we came here?”** Jackson relaxed at the sound of Lydia’s voice. Part of him felt like tearing through the walls, even though he knew he couldn’t, but part of him knew — trusted — that Scott wouldn’t let her come to any harm.

“I got him bit, and then all these monsters lined up to try to turn him into their minion. You know he’s a True Alpha? You know what it means?”

**“Kira, turn the dial.”**

**“Should we turn the dial on Lydia instead?”**

**“No, no. Do it, Kira. Do it.”**

Jackson tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “He wouldn’t kill?”

**“Let’s start at one.”**

**“Tell me! Who actually has Derek? Who had a reason, a vendetta, particular to the Hales?”**

**“I said, I don’t know.”**

**“You don’t know because you haven’t figured it out yet. So think! Who could have taken him?”**

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “That’s what people think, but they’re wrong. He’s a True Alpha because he had the force of will to stand up to those monsters, to say ‘no’, and to make that refusal mean something. He could have run away. He could have given in. But he didn’t. He took everything that Peter and Derek and Gerard and Deucalion threw at him and he … stuck to what he believed.” 

**“Tres!”**

**“It’s okay. It’s okay.”** Scott was offering comfort to Kira as she twisted the dial on the device torturing him.

Alexandrina had said something similar. It wasn’t what the True Alpha believed in, it was the strength with which they believed. Jackson had benefited from Scott’s refusal to tolerate death if it could be avoided, so he wasn’t going to say anything. Jackson switched his hearing off. He couldn’t help Scott or Lydia or Kira. He had to trust them, and if he told Stiles what was happening, that would be the end of this very enlightening conversation.

“And you didn’t.” 

“No.” Stiles’ fists clenched. “That’s not it. That’s not the only thing.”

“Then what more?”

“I didn’t just fail, Jackson. You know me. I argued to let Derek die. I argued you to let you die. Don’t pretend I didn’t. I thought that you were dangerous. But when push came to shove, I jumped on the Murder Train like I had been waiting for it to pull into the station. I belonged to that thing, Day One, Eight A.M.” 

Jackson scoffed. “So you’re upset that you got attacked by something that was able to force you to kill? That you weren’t able to resist its commands? Boo hoo! I’m crying over here.”

“Do you remember what you did? What Matt and Gerard made you do?”

He swallowed in response to Stiles’ questions. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I dream.” 

“I remember everything. Every moment. I remember liking it. I thought we were equals!” Stiles spat, and he was suddenly talking about Scott again. “I thought we were brothers!”

Jackson was confused by the anger, but he was glad he had stopped listening to the others and even gladder he had decided not to share what he had learned with Stiles. 

“I used to think that Scott needed me because he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I helped him by figuring things out. But it was his failsafe that defeated Gerard, wasn’t it? He didn’t need me to figure that out. I’m not the one who told him to take the explosive arrowheads and use them against Deucalion. He worked that out on his own.”

Stiles pushed himself up off the ground and studied the door as if it offended him. “Anything?” 

Jackson thought for a moment. “No.” He lied.

“He’s stronger than me. He’s just as smart as I am when he needs to be. And he can do the right thing when I can’t. Do you know I tortured him? So bad that a normal human would have just dropped right fucking dead.” Stiles laughed grimly. “It was … maybe I’ll tell you someday. But I’ll tell you what you need to know now. I enjoyed it. _See how much you need me,_ I thought to myself. _See how much smarter I am than you.”_

“You were being manipulated …” 

“It doesn’t matter. Do you know when it was all done, he blew it off. He treated me twisting that blade like I had accidentally hit him in the face with a lacrosse stick. Like it was nothing.”

Stiles’ voice cracked a little. Jackson didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t need to. He knew what it felt like, to feel unworthy of someone’s rescue. After all, hadn’t he fled across the ocean because of it? 

“You really wanted to know why I pushed him? Because he’s better than me … because he doesn’t _need_ me. He’s _never_ needed me. Not in the way I need him. _And for that treachery, we must both be punished.”_

There was silence between the two of them. Suddenly, they burst out into laughter. Stiles’ feelings were real, and they weren’t a matter for humor. But this was the only way the both of them could deal with the intensity that he had just shown.

“Wow! And I thought _I_ had unresolved issues. How often do you see someone?” Jackson already knew, of course, but he wanted to see if Stiles would admit to it.

“I’m seeing Marin Morrell three times a week,” Stiles commented. “Yeah, I’m in it for the long haul. Aren’t you glad you asked?” 

“Do you thinks she’ll see me? My therapist in London wasn’t in the know, which made him pretty useless.” 

Stiles pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Tell you what, I’ll ask next time.”

Before they could continue, the doors opened to reveal the Calaveras.

###### 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure about the efficacy of mixing in the quotes while another conversation. Concrete criticism, both positive and negative, is welcome.


	5. 117 (Part 1: Totally and Completely Honest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack has managed to bring a de-aged Derek home. Jackson misses both the funny bits and the Berserkers. Instead, he runs into Danny.

They were still three hours out from Beacon Hills. While this Sunday had been less exciting than a Saturday filled with Mexican hunters and ancient Aztec temples, it still had its fair share of excitement. Sneaking an unconscious werewolf into the United States had been difficult even with Braeden’s free hints about how to avoid the Border Patrol. They had successfully crossed, but it had taken far longer than it should have. Especially with the verbal war between Lydia and Stiles. Both of them had very firm ideas of the steps the pack should take to get across the border, and the discussion got so heated that Scott insisted they pull over and have it out before they disturbed Derek. 

Lydia and Stiles’ discussion — read screaming match — had driven Kira and him away from the pair, while Scott tried to play mediator unsuccessfully. The pair didn’t hold anything back, lacing their argument with snide innuendo and vicious sarcasm. Considering their history, Jackson wasn’t surprised by Lydia’s attitude, but Stiles nearly knocked him on his ass. He certainly didn’t worship her anymore.

But maybe there was something deeper, because when they finally finished and Scott made the decision to go with Lydia’s plan, Stiles was only mad at Scott. Stiles and Lydia seemed to by cool with each other; in fact, more than cool. Something was happening there that Jackson couldn’t fathom.

While Teen Derek had been conscious when Scott and the mercenary had pulled him from the strange altar chamber, he had rapidly fallen back into unconsciousness. There wasn’t much that they could do for him in the SUV except hurry home as fast as they could. Scott had called Deaton and estimated that the earliest they could arrived would be three a.m. Monday morning. It was going to be a long day at school.

It was near midnight; the stars were shining here but in the north where Beacon Hills would be the clouds were swallowing them up. Jackson’s phone indicated that it was raining there. Scott was driving his face fixed conscientiously on the road ahead. Jackson sat in the passenger side, watching the lights of Merced fade away in the distance. A glance towards the back seat revealed Kira and Lydia sprawled together, sleeping comfortably, while Stiles snored softly, his face pressed up against the glass of the side window. In the rear seats, the hilariously young-looking former alpha was bundled up in a makeshift blanket. 

Jackson was glad that he had made them take Derek’s Toyota Land Cruiser. Stiles had initially insisted on taking his piece-of-shit jeep, but Jackson had pointed out that it barely sat five comfortably. How would Derek, if they rescued him, had fit in there unless Stiles was planning on someone dying to make room? In the end, Scott had sided with Jackson which had meant a sulky Stiles on the way down, but comfort for everyone on the way back. 

Scott suddenly turned to Jackson, attracted by the movement as Jackson put away his phone. “Dude. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Your money. We didn’t even try to get it back.”

“I didn’t expect to get it back, McCall.” Jackson had considered it money well spent. It would help smooth things over in the pack, and the former alpha was, even though no one else in the pack knew, his cousin. “We were actually trying to ransom Derek, remember?”

“Yes. But they didn’t have him, and they kept the money anyway.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Scott fell silent driving. This lasted for about five minutes.

“It _is_ a big deal.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for even someone like you to miss this, but my family is pretty rich. When I turn eighteen, I’ll be independently rich. I’ll probably go to law school, and lawyers are rich. It. Is. Not. A. Big. Deal.”

Scott uneven jaw set. “It’s fifty thousand dollars. It may not seem like much to you, but it’s a lot to me. I should have had a plan.”

Jackson grunted in irritation. He’d thought Scott had stopped being so overly earnest.

“McCall, the goal of this whole field trip was to get Derek back. He’s back, and he’s asleep in the back seat. The plan worked. Stop being lame.”

Another dozen miles rolled under the car. When Jackson focused, he could hear the breathing of the four people in the back and the steady pulse of their heartbeats. Derek’s was more rapid than it should be for someone asleep, but then again, who knew what had been done to him or what the long-term effects would be?

“Did we?” Scott broke the silence again.

“What?”

“Did we get him back?” Scott wondered. “Did we get the whole Derek back?”

Jackson glanced back at the rear of the SUV. “Do I look like an expert in naga de-aging rituals?”

“Nagual.”

“Whatever. I’m not, and neither are you.” 

Scott frowned and kept driving. Jackson studied him out of the corner of his eye. Others had taken their turns driving, but he didn’t remember the alpha actually going to sleep. Now, Scott’s eyes were limned with red, but it wasn’t from the alpha spark. It was sleep deprivation, even though the wolf hadn’t yawned or made any mistakes while at the wheel. Over time, Jackson watched Scott’s knuckles rhythmically tightening around the steering wheel.

It was Jackson’s turn to break the silence. “What are you thinking about?”

Scott turned to look at him and then back at the road. “Wolf’s bane.”

“Huh, not what I was expecting. What about wolf’s bane?”

“Araya knocked us out with wolf’s bane gas that went through the club. But aconite is poisonous to humans as well. She didn’t seem very worried about that.” 

“Tell me about it.” Reflexively, Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, even though he knew the wounds were long healed. 

“Could … could wolf’s bane be more than just a poison? Could it be an allergen?” Scott asked, rhetorically.

It hit Jackson like a lightning strike: Scott was going over everything that had happened in Mexico. He obviously hadn’t stopped doing that since they had left La Iglesia, and that had been over twenty-four hours ago. 

“We don’t need as much exposure as humans because we’re specifically allergic to it. That would explain how Gerard ambushed Deucalion.” Scott continued to wonder. He turned to look at Jackson. “Sorry. I’m a little tired. Thinking out loud.”

“You want to switch out? I can drive us the rest of the way home.” 

“No. I’m good.” 

Jackson kept the grimace off his face. “You look a little tense.”

“I’m fine. Just thinking.”

The alpha wasn’t fine, but something told Jackson that he shouldn’t press it. Not tonight. “I had a long talk with Stiles while you were getting your ass electrocuted.” He decided to change the subject, after making sure that Stiles was still asleep. If anything would get Scott’s mind out of its present rut, it was, ironically, what had happened the crisis before this one. “I think I’ve got an idea how to do what you wanted me to.”

Scott’s smile — a real smile — burst out of his face. “That’s great!” A pause and then he lowered his voice. “May I ask how?”

“You’re the alpha.” Jackson was inwardly amazed at the question. Neither Derek nor Alexandrina acted like he did. Did Scott really not understand that he could demand to know, especially in matters of pack? That it was his right to know?

“I don’t care about that. I just care about him getting better. If you think I should know, then tell me. If you think I shouldn’t know, then don’t. I know … I know that sometimes a person can be too close.”

Jackson worked his jaw. Scott might be overcompensating, but he wasn’t completely clueless. “I think so. You _are_ too close.”

“Whatever it takes. I just want Stiles back.” 

And that was another problem. There was no reason not to rip the Band-Aid off right away. “Well, that _isn’t_ going to happen. That’s probably been the problem all along.”

“What has?”

Jackson did another glance into the back of the truck and then leaned over to Scott. “You want the old Stiles back, but he’s gone. Do you think I’m different than when I left?” 

“Yes. I do. You’re different. Sometimes I think — well that’s Jackson — but sometimes you it’s like you’re a whole new person.” Scott chuckled grimly. “Does that mean Stiles has to go London?”

“No. Stiles has to change. You ready for that?” 

Scott’s hands tightened on the wheel once again, as Jackson leaned back into his seat. 

“He’s still trying to be the person he was before that thing took him, because that’s what he thinks he wants. That’s what he thinks that you want, and what his dad wants, and he’s right. But he’s never going to be that person. That’s what I learned while I was away. There was someone in London who … she didn’t see the old me. She didn’t _expect_ to see the old me. She saw _me._ That simple fact helped me … a lot.”

Scott nodded, sharply, his eagerness at the news vanishing. “Do what you have to.”

“I will. I just want you to understand what that might mean.”

Scott sighed. “I’m so fucking sick of change.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

**********

Morning came far too quickly that day. Jackson had gotten some sleep in on the trip back up and he had gotten about two hours of sleep after the pack had dropped him off at his house that morning. It still was going to make this Monday unbearable. He had thought about sleeping until the very last moment or even taking the day off, but he changed his mind. He was tired, but the nagging itch in his brain was more important. He needed to talk to someone about everything, and there was only one person who he knew who could possibly know what he wanted to discover. Someone whose job it was to give advice.

The animal clinic was locked up tight, but he had been texted by Scott earlier that morning. Lydia and Deaton were keeping watch over the de-aged Derek until he woke up. Maybe then they could figure out was happening to him. Jackson knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He considered things for a moment; the veterinarian wouldn’t open for unexpected visitors, especially since they had swiped Derek out from under Kate Argent’s resurrected nose. The nagual might have come looking for her prisoner. 

Luckily, he had an obvious solution. Stiles had made sure that his phone had been updated with all relevant phone numbers before they had gone on their ‘camping trip’ to Mexico. He dialed the private number for the clinic, as opposed to the public number.

“Good morning.” The man’s voice sounds like he’s not tired at all, but he had been there since at least three a.m.

“Dr. Deaton? This is Jackson. I’m out front. Would you let me in?” 

“Of course. Please wait a moment.” 

The sun was peaking over the taller buildings in Beacon Hills when the door opened up for him. This was actually the first time that Jackson had been inside the clinic. He expected it to be overwhelming, but it wasn’t. It was oddly comforting.

“What can I do for you this morning? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to school?”

“Uhh. I … I need to talk to you. Privately.”

“We can talk out here. Both Derek and Lydia are still asleep.” 

“Is Derek okay?” The words felt strange in Jackson’s mouth.

“‘Okay’ would be a term I am not comfortable using. As I told the others, this is far beyond my experience. I will try my best to make sure Derek survives, but I can’t even begin to conceive of how this was accomplished.”

Jackson took a deep breath. There was so much he wanted to know, and he didn’t want to be disappointed if the Emissary didn’t know … or worse, didn’t want to tell them. The veterinarian stared at him placidly, allowing the younger man to gather his thoughts.

“He’s my cousin.” 

“I know.”

He had expected many things but not that. Jackson’s face must have said many things to Deaton. 

“I helped Talia arrange the adoption when she determined it was necessary for it to be done.”

“Why? Why did she determine it was necessary?” 

“Your father is a complex man …” The veterinarian began.

“My father is a murderous, corrupt asshole.”

“He wasn’t always that, Jackson. It might seem hard to believe now, but there was a time when Peter was a clever young man with too much time on his hands and a natural disposition towards mischief. He made some wrong choices, but they weren’t malicious.” 

“What about my mother? What happened to her?”

Deaton frowned. “I do not feel it ethical to share what little I do know. Talia did not see fit to share her story with me. I respected her decision then, and I respect it now.”

“But you do know something!”

“Very little. If you wish, I will make an effort to learn more.” 

Jackson nodded once, sharply. They stared at each for a moment. Part of him wanted to reach out and shake the Emissary until he told him everything he wanted to know, but Jackson knew that not only would that cause incredible amount of trouble for him, but Deaton was also not without his own resources.

“You don’t like sharing things unless you’re completely sure, do you?”

“No.” Deaton’s voice was stone. “I find repeating half-truths and fairy tales usually ends up doing more harm than good. I know it may seem that I am withholding information, but I’ve learned when it’s necessary to do so. Especially in Beacon Hills, where I keep encountering things that I have never seen before. For example, when your condition first manifested itself, for example, I had never heard of a kanima. And just like the situation with Derek, I was quite at a loss.”

“But you helped.”

“I did what I could.”

“You provided the mountain ash to trap Matt and me at the rave.”

This gave Deaton pause. “I had assumed you were unaware at that time and would not remember that.”

“I wasn’t aware back then. I’ve been … remembering things from time to time.”

Deaton’s expression turned into concern.

“I had help in London in dealing with all that meant. I don’t enjoy those memories, but they’re not going to cause any trouble. But you did do that? Supply the mountain ash?”

“I did.”

“And you helped Scott poison Gerard?” 

“I did, yes.”

“So …” 

Deaton raised his eyebrows in silent questioning. 

“You were the Hale Emissary, but you really didn’t … you weren’t Peter’s or Derek’s.” He hadn’t asked Colin about how he had become Alexandrina’s Emissary and now he was very curious how that worked.

“I was Talia’s Emissary. An Emissary is not a servant; I can choose who I advise and what advice I give. Peter was unstable and wouldn’t have accepted any advice I would have chosen to give him. On the other hand, as much as I wished it were different, Derek was not suitable to be an alpha.”

“But Scott was.” Jackson couldn’t keep an echo of a sneer out of his voice.

“Yes. I believed that Scott had the potential to be a good alpha, a True Alpha, so I choose to cultivate that relationship.”

Jackson crossed his arms. 

“That bothers you, Jackson?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Don’t worry about it; it’s not you, it’s me.” 

“If I may hazard a guess, you are wondering if I had been more willing to work with Derek, he may not have consented to give you the Bite. Am I right?” 

Jackson nodded. 

“If it helps any, I have wondered about that as well. I don’t regret my decision. One of the tenets that I follow is that I am responsible for only my own decisions, not anyone else’s. I am, however, willing to help you in any way I can, both with your own problems and with the task you agreed to with Scott. I am free to do this, because Scott runs his pack different than Talia. She never revealed my identity to her family, but Scott encourages others to come to me.”

“Oh. I haven’t had any difficulties, yet. But … I’ll need to work with Scott soon. I learned some techniques overseas and they require an alpha.”

“Would you mind discussing these techniques with me?”

Jackson blushed. “I’d rather not, unless I don’t have a choice.”

Deaton seemed undisturbed by his refusal. “Is there something else on your mind?”

“Yes.” Jackson looks over the druid’s shoulder as if he could see into the backroom.

“They’re still asleep.” 

“How do you know?”

Deaton didn’t answer; he tilted his head to the side.

Jackson sighed. “Okay. How much of it is left in Stiles?”

“I don’t know.” The veterinarian’s voice sounded regretful.

“I wasn’t possessed like him. I was puppeted. Matt pulled the strings on my body and spoke with my voice, but there was a clear … _line_ … between me and him.”

Deaton nodded as if he were listening to an old lady listing off her cat’s symptoms.

“Gerard was the same; I don’t think like him at all. He was far less … emotional than Matt was. I was a piece in a game to him. You know, it’s funny. It should be Matt’s rage and … and …” 

“Entitlement.”

“Yeah. His entitlement that should make me sick to my stomach, but it’s Gerard that … that makes me the most nauseous when I think about it. It’s always Gerard.”

“It’s unfortunate that we were unable to help you before he took the reins, Jackson. There are few souls in this world more twisted than Gerard Argent.”

Jackson fought the vertiginous feeling that threatened to swallow him whenever he thought of the old hunter. “He’s still alive?”

“Yes. Suffering from Scott’s poisoning in a nursing home.”

“He should be dead.” Jackson growled a little.

“An opinion held by many.” When Deaton saw that his answer didn’t please the werewolf, he went on. “What’s more dangerous? An enfeebled old man confined to a wheel chair in a dingy room, forgotten by the world and shunned by his family, or the lies we tell ourselves in order to become executioners? If you start killing anyone who _could_ hurt you, you’ll never stop.”

“Now, you sound like McCall.” 

Deaton beamed at him. “Thank you.”

“Anyway …” Jackson got himself back on track. “Sometimes when I’m talking to him he … shifts … he’s not the Stiles I knew. He’s … “

“Cold?” Deaton supplied helpfully.

“Maybe. Still. Focused. Malicious.” 

“Noshiko Yukimura explained Stiles’ condition as ‘more him than nogitsune.’” 

“I told Scott that Stiles is trying to pretend he’s the old Stiles, but that’s not just it, is it? He’s trying to hide this part of himself; the part of him that’s still a fox.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Why hasn’t Scott seen it? I saw it and I’ve been gone for eight months, and before I didn’t give two fucks about Stiles Stilinski.” 

“Sometimes, you don’t see what you don’t want to see.”

Jackson thought about that for several minutes. He thought about his own world-class case of denial. “That’s not it. Scott knows exactly what’s happening. He’s trying to fix it.” 

Deaton raised an eyebrow in response.

“Have you seriously not noticed how tightly wound Scott is? I mean, he got tortured this weekend, and he’s not reacting to it. It could have been a fucking massage for all he cared!” Jackson exclaimed.

“Everyone deals with grief in different ways.”

“That’s not dealing with grief. That’s trying to be the bestest alpha ever, because if he fucking thinks he’s the bestest alpha ever, all the things that have gone wrong will magically right themselves. I also have experience with this particular pathology.” 

To his credit, Deaton did not reject his observation or get angry. He considered it. “You might be right.”

“Just like I told Scott in the car, you’re too close. You see him acting as if he’s strong, and you appreciate it and you believe it, because that’s what you think he is: the True Alpha. But that is not all he is, and one of these days, that strength is going to fail, and if he hasn’t handled what’s inside him right now, he’s going to do something stupid like blackmail someone for the Bite.” 

Deaton’s mouth drew into a thin line. He was contemplating what Jackson had said. “I’ll try my best. I’m glad that someone with your insight has joined the pack.”

“I had eight months of intensive navel gazing both here and in England. From what I’ve heard, Scott’s not had time to do much of that.” Jackson shook his head. “I don’t know how much more he can take before he cracks.”

**********

Jackson hurried home from school. The pack was on the move. Scott was going to pay a visit to Peter, and it seemed that Malia intended to accompany him. Malia and Kira had found a dead gas station attendant. Stiles was taking teen-age and amnesiac Derek to Scott’s house to keep him safe. Jackson had volunteered to go stay with Derek and Stiles, but he needed to get home, get changed, and tell his parents he was having dinner with his friends.

All of these plans fell to dust as he realized who was lounging on their own car in his driveway: Danny Mahealani. He stood there expectantly, arms crossed. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. I see you’re back.”

Jackson grimaced in shame. He had told Danny he was leaving, but he hadn’t said why. Danny had demanded to know the truth only once back then, but Jackson had given him his best stubborn look and Danny had let it drop. He hadn’t contacted his best friend once while he was in London. He certainly hadn’t let him know that he had returned. 

“Yeah, I …”

“Save it.” Danny didn’t get angry; Danny got disappointed. So it was a very big surprise — though it shouldn’t have been — that his voice was clipped and furious. Jackson swallowed. 

“I didn’t see you in school.”

“I transferred to Devenford Prep.” 

“You really going to play for —”

“Stop it, Jackson. We can talk about school some other day, because I’m not going to let you deflect or misdirect or stubborn your way out of this conversation.” Danny pushed himself off the car and walked up way too far into Jackson’s personal space. “I’m going to give you one chance — this chance — to tell me the truth. I want the whole truth. I don’t want you omitting things because you’re ashamed of them or hiding things because you think it’ll protect me. If my friendship means anything to you, you will do this for me. Otherwise, I go home and you never see me again.” 

“Ultimatums aren’t cool.”

“They’re necessary when someone you care about seems more willing to ditch a decade of friendship in order to keep their secrets.”

“Okay.” 

“You’re going to answer my questions?”

“Yes. Okay.” Danny deserved his cooperation. He didn’t want to lose this.

“Are you a werewolf?”

Jackson shouldn’t have been at all surprised, but he was. “I am … now?”

“You are now.” Danny repeated it slowly. “Great. I don’t know what that means.” 

“Can we do this inside? I’ll steal a bottle of whiskey from my dad.” 

Danny let Jackson take him up to his room, and Jackson did snag one of his father’s top-shelf whiskey bottles from where he kept them. His father trusted him to drink responsibility, and while, when he was still human, he had violated that trust, he hadn’t got caught doing it. On the way, Jackson texted Stiles with an explanation. Stiles sent back a message that indicated it was probably for the best; he had encountered Agent McCall at Scott's house. Only Stiles could imbue texts with that amount of sarcasm.

Once they were settled in the room, Danny perched on a chair and Jackson sprawled on the bed. “How did you know?”

Danny laughed. It wasn’t a regular Danny laugh. It was a bitter laugh. Jackson didn’t like it.

“First, I’m not stupid. Second, when McCall panics, he can’t control the volume of his voice. Third, Stilinski isn’t nearly as good a liar as he thinks he is. Fourth, I just said I’m not stupid. Explain what you mean by you’re a werewolf, now. Was there a time when you weren’t?”

“Uhm. Okay. When I first became one, I had some issues …”

“Issues? You? Shocking!”

“Ha-ha. Fuck you.” But Jackson was smiling. _That_ sounded like the old Danny.

“No. Seriously. Go on.”

Jackson bit the bullet. “I had issues, which you knew, and instead of turning into a werewolf like I should have, I turned into something else. Something …”

“Go on. I’m not going to judge you, Jackson. I never have.”

“I turned into a monstrous lizard creature that killed at the command of some asshole who was obsessed with revenge against the 2006 swim team.” It came out in a torrent. 

Danny eyes narrowed. “Okay. Tell me more.”

“You are remarkably calm about this!” 

Danny chuckled. “I had some adventures of my own while you were gone. That’s how you ripped yourself open on the field and didn’t die.”

Jackson swallowed. With a great deal of false starts and anguished silences, he explained to Danny the entire kanima situation, from the black nose bleeds to the death of Mr. Lahey to the warehouse. 

At one point, Danny doubled over laughing. “You hit Stilinski and McCall with a restraining order, when you …” Danny wheezed.

“I was in denial!”

“No shit.”

He relaxed. Danny was true to his word. He wasn’t judging him at all. In fact, he was remarkably stable, even when Jackson reluctantly confessed about his attack on the Jungle. Danny simply nodded as if things were adding up.

“Well, that explains that.”

“Explains what?”

“I always wondered why the fuck you would borrow a camera from Matt. You were so obsessed with no one else watching the recording, yet you borrowed it from him in the first place. You have access to your parent’s black visa and there are any number of shops in San Francisco where you could rent the exact same equipment along with tutoring in how to use it. It’d be a lot more discreet. You must have unconsciously looked for a way to get closer to him.” 

Jackson’s face must have revealed his immediate disgust and fear.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Danny’s empathy shining on him again was like the return after a storm.

“No. You’re probably right.” Jackson mastered himself. 

“No wonder you needed to get away.”

Jackson nodded, staring down at the floor. He heard Danny step and come sit next to him. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, whatever someone did to you.”

“I kinda did it to myself. You don’t know what … you don’t know what I tried to do to get the Bite.”

“You’re selfishness is only matched by your self-loathing.” Danny made it sound like a joke, but it also sounded so sincere. “No one’s perfect. I dumped a nice boy for a stupid reason.”

“Really?”

“Well, he was a member of the Alpha Pack. But I dumped him because I didn’t want to have any connection to whatever hellish shit McCall and the others seem to have to face every semester. Allison Argent died, Jackson. My boyfriend’s brother died. I dumped him and I transferred to Devenford to get away from this werewolf business. And it was all for nothing.”

Jackson blinked. “What? Why?”

Danny smiled at him. “Because I’d never stay away from you. So … tell me everything else.”


	6. 117 (Part 2: Works in Progress)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson is distracted by Danny, Scott is distracted by Jackson, and Stiles is just plain distracted.

The bottle of whiskey had shrank down to half. Of course, Jackson didn’t feel any of it, but Danny was pleasantly buzzed and that was all that mattered. It made the conversation less awkward and far more fun. They were sprawled out on the floor of the bedroom, resting up against the bed. Lana Del Rey proclaiming that she was “Born to Die” on the stereo. He’d remember this night for a long time; Danny and he were going to be okay.

Danny giggled. “So you’re telling me that Lydia, our Lydia, is actually a fairy.”

“There’s a whole bunch of mythology that say they are, and it was what I was told by someone I trust. And if you repeat that to Lydia, I’ll clock you one.”

“I know better. A harbinger of death.” Danny laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “Always thought Lydia could kill people with a look, but now ...” Danny poured himself another drink. “She’s okay though?”

Jackson couldn’t answer right away. Even though he had spent a lot of time with her down in Mexico, he couldn’t read her like he used to. “I don’t know.” 

At Danny’s concerned glance, he continued. “I don’t know how to talk to her anymore. I don’t know what she wants me to say. Yeah, I know, everyone’s changed, but she … I can see now that I took her for granted before. We dated to be _the_ couple at school, and I was okay with that. The sex was good, and I was okay with that. She pushed me, hard, and I put up with it until I decided I didn’t want to. It never occurred to me … it never occurred to me that she might actually have feelings for me.”

“You _were_ dating her …”

“We’ve already covered that I have issues, okay?” There was mutual laughter. “But that’s not entirely my fault. She wore a mask, and it was a very good mask, and I’m not going to blame myself for not being able see past it. It’s gone now, and that’s a problem. She’s still smart and confident, but now she’s real. When she talks, I can tell that she means what she says. That means I have to learn to speak to her again.”

“So you’re not getting back together.”

“No. No, we’re not. Aside from the fact that she’s still recovering from our break up, she also has to deal with Allison’s death and the death of this Aiden guy. That’s a lot of baggage to unpack. If we dated, it’d be … unhealthy. I think I’d like to be her friend though. Yes. I want that.”

“It happens to a lot of people.” Danny sighed. “One moment, you’re perfect for each other, and then the next it’s just isn’t right. Even Allison started dating Isaac Lahey.”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” 

“You didn’t know about that?”

“It never came up. That’s like … wow. She like stabbed him. A lot.” 

“Some people are into that.” 

“Ha. I really thought that Allison’d eventually get back with McCall.” Matt had been the one who had hated the idea of them together; considering he was a Maximum Creeper, it made Jackson feel good to believe in their relationship.

“From what you’ve told me, that probably would have been difficult.”

“Hmmmm?”

“You told me that basically the universe decided to make Scott a boss werewolf because he’s a halo-wearing boy scout. That’s got to be a hard person to fall in love with.” Danny shrugged. “You don’t want to love someone who’s that much better than you. You might think you do, but then there are days when you wanna just be a bitch and stay in bed when you should be doing other things. The shitty part about being in love is that you have to _live_ with that person, and sometimes the person who makes you feel things, you can’t live with. I mean, who would want to live with a saint?”

“Wow. You’re really feeling guilty over dumping Ethan, aren’t you?”

“Not remotely my point.”

“To clear this up for you — Scott’s not even close to a saint. He’s a good person — Lydia really thinks so — but there are a lot of good people everywhere. He didn’t become a True Alpha because he helped old ladies across the street. He became a True Alpha out of … resolve.” 

“Jackson, you’re gonna have to explain that.”

“Alexandrina told me a parable. A man walks down the street. He sees that a little girl has fallen into a hole in the sidewalk. He feels bad for the little girl and helps her out. The next day, another man walks down the street. He sees that another little girl has fallen into the same hole in the sidewalk. He feels bad for the child and helps her out. Then he yells at the parents for not watching her better. The next day, yet another man is walking down the same street and sees yet another girl fallen into the hole in the sidewalk. He feels bad for the child and helps her out and writes a letter to a mayor about how terrible it is that there are holes in the sidewalk of the city. And, finally, one day a man walks down the same street. This man sees that a little girl has fallen into a hole in the sidewalk. He feels bad for the little girl and helps her out. _Then he fills in the hole._ That man is a True Alpha.”

“Okay.”

“Scott met a lot of people last year who act like killing people is no big deal. They killed out of revenge, out of enjoyment, out of principle, out of survival, out of madness. Scott looked at the world he found himself in and told it to fuck off. He was going to find a way to live and not treat death as a means to an end. And he found a way.”

“Wow. That sounded like it borders on hero worship. I thought you hated him.”

“No, I never hated him. Back during sophomore year, I resented him. I still kinda resent him. He only got made co-captain because of the Bite. He may have worked hard before, but he didn’t succeed. I worked hard, and I succeeded. He didn’t deserve it. When it comes to this supernatural stuff? In a way, I kinda feel sorry for him. He’s a good guy, but I’ll never see the world the way he does, and I … I don’t want to. Not a lot of future in it.”

“You don’t resent him being a True Alpha?”

Jackson stared at the bottle of whiskey. “I never could be one. It’s just not in me, and I’m more than okay with it. Alexandrina always stressed that a key principle to understanding shapeshifters like us is a single simple concept: the shape you take reflects the person that you are. Scott sees a hole in the road, and he wants to fill it. When he sees the darkness surrounding us, he wants to fight it. We need people like that. Thank God I’m not one of them.”

“You talk about Alexandrina a lot. She sounds pretty impressive.”

“You bet. I’m sure that if I had met other alphas first before meeting her, she wouldn’t have been as impressive, but that’s not what happened. Peter was insane; Derek was an emotional cripple; Scott’s seventeen. She’s done a lot for me; I owe her big time.”

Danny sobered up a little. 

“I’m not leaving again anytime soon, Danny.”

“No fair!” Danny looked angry.

“This has nothing to do with my senses. I just know you. I’ve got to be here for my dad. Of course, there’s a part of me that’d rather be in London with Alexandrina, but … we don’t always get what we want. I’ll stay here with you and with the pack and finish school. Then I’ll figure out what I’m going to do next.”

“So you’re going to be in Scott’s pack?”

“I need an alpha. Even though he’s inexperienced, he’s not bad. It’ll do for now. And, it looks like his price will be interesting.”

“A price?”

“Scott wants me to help Stiles.”

Danny frowned. “Yeah. Last semester, Stiles was acting really strange. I mean, stranger than usual. I just didn’t guess it was creepy demon fox possession. Man.”

“The thing is … I totally am capable of giving him what he needs after that shit.”

“Now, I was sure you hated him.”

“No. I didn’t give a damn about him.” Jackson laughed. “And that’s what he needs.” 

“Huh?”

“The thing Stiles and I have in common is the same problem. I didn’t know who I was; he doesn’t know who he is now. It’s impossible for him to be who he used to be and everyone in his life wants him to be exactly that. Everyone needs to learn to fucking cope.” 

“Tough love?”

“Toughest love.”

Before Danny could go on, Jackson’s phone beeped. He smirked as he glanced at it. “Speak of the devil.”

Jackson scrambled for the phone on the end table. It was a text. 

“Oh, shit, I gotta go.”

“Why?”

Jackson showed him the screen and the text from Stiles: KATE STOLE BBY-DEREK. BRZRKRS AT SCHOOL. 

Danny stared at the where the phone had been even after Jackson had put it away. Jackson was rushing around the room looking for his keys so he could leave. 

A single breath. “Don’t go.”

“What?” Jackson stopped and took to look at Danny. “I have to.”

“Why do you have to? Make an excuse or something. I don’t care if you need an alpha; Scott won’t turn you away because you stayed home.”

Jackson stared at Danny, confused and conflicted. It took the sudden scent of adrenaline and fear to figure it out. “I’m not Allison.”

“No, you’re not. So why go?”

“Because I … “Jackson felt the words form on his tongue. “Because I can help. These people remember me as a problem, but now, I’m not a problem. I can help, and I’m going to.”

**********

Jackson was able to slide into the McCall House and up to Scott’s room without being detected. He heard Scott and his father having a late dinner, but he had been warned by the alpha not to engage with the agent. While it seemed a lifetime ago for them, Rafael McCall had heard of the restraining order, and it would simply be easier to avoid the whole messy conversation together.

What a difference a year could make.

He settled down at Scott’s desk, took out his laptop and began his homework. It wasn’t much, but he wanted to get a good jump on it before tonight. Tonight was going to be awkward enough without him worrying about finishing his assignments. Actually, when he thought about it, he was looking forward to it. He imagined the look on the alpha’s face.

His math homework had been dealt with and he had just started the second story in _The Things They Carried_ when he heard Scott coming up the stairs to his room. Scott’s father, being bigger, would have had a heavier tread. The door didn’t slam, but it clicked firmly. The alpha obviously wasn’t in a great mood.

“I’m sorry that took so long.” Scott flopped down on the bed. “Dad wanted to watch a game.”

“No problem at all. I got most of my homework done.”

Scott groaned. 

“If you’ve got homework to do, we can …”

“You came over here and I made you wait for like an hour. You said you needed this?”

“I do, but it doesn’t have to be right now. I didn’t wait until the last moment. But I have plenty of reading …” Jackson waved his book at Scott. “… if you have homework.”

“Okay. I’ll try not to take too long.” 

Jackson transferred himself to the armchair while Scott took his place at the desk. 

Scott sighed after a half hour. Jackson could tell that while Scott had done some work, it’d been a struggle. He smirked. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing new, just trouble with my dad.”

Jackson could have let it go, but he was curious and the book wasn’t holding his attention. He rested his chin in his hand and his elbow on the armchair. “You had dinner and watched a basketball game. Doesn’t sound as bad as berserkers.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Scott looked for a moment like he considered going back to his Economics, but he abandoned it. “You don’t really know much about my dad, do you?” 

“Nope. I’m bored enough with the Vietnam war that I’ll listen.”

“Mom and him got divorced years ago. I lived with him for a little bit then, but after that, it’s like he just vanished out of my life. He sent cards with money in it on my birthday, and I saw him maybe once a year. Only now, he wants to be my dad again.”

There was no reason for Jackson to comment, so he didn’t.

“I should be happy right? He’s making an effort. He’s helping around the house. He’s being there. Only now _I’m_ the one who’s vanishing. We made a deal to eat dinner together when Mom’s working nights, and this is the first time in a week I’ve actually honored that deal.”

“You were rescuing one of your betas from a deranged werejaguar; I think you had a pretty good reason. Sorry I wasn’t there for the fight last night, by the way.”

“You helped with clean-up, and that’s appreciated. No one ever thinks about clean-up.” Scott picked up his pencil. “It just sucks. He wants to be my dad, but now this bullshit …” Jackson heard Scott take a deep breath; yeah, he was still wound tight. “All this supernatural stuff is getting in the way.”

“Why not tell him?”

“No!” Scott exclaimed a little too loud. “This isn’t like the Sheriff. Stiles didn’t want to tell the Sheriff because he was afraid that it’d get him killed. But, in the end, not telling him almost got him killed. We were stupid not to tell him.”

“You don’t think this is the same thing?”

Scott face grew a little sad. “No, that’s not it. I don’t trust him.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I don’t think he’s a secret villain with an ulterior agenda to cause death and mayhem — though it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? I just don’t know how he’d react, and he’s a federal agent. I can’t … I can’t risk that he’d put his job ahead of his family.”

“So you have to put your job ahead of your family.” The cutting remark just slipped out. 

“Seems like it.”

They returned to their homework. As Jackson turned the pages of his novel, he smiled to himself. It might not be wise to taunt the alpha he needed with wise-ass remarks, but then again, if he became super-nice all of the sudden, everyone would believe he was being controlled again. But he could, as he told Danny, help out. 

Finally, Scott finished off whatever homework he was doing. 

“Done?”

“Yeah. I’ll look over the notes for the English quiz tomorrow at lunch.”

“You finished the reading?”

Scott laughed out loud. “I finished the reading in August. I’m so far ahead in English, I don’t think I’ll have to read another book until senior year. They’re sticking to that syllabus, even if we’re so far behind.” 

“Why’d the class get behind?”

“Teacher was an evil druid.” Scott left the desk and flopped on the bed, kicking his shoes off. “So … how do we do this?”

Jackson stood up and started putting his books away; he did it slowly, like he was trying not to startle a wild animal, but in reality he was savoring it. Scott watched him obliviously from the bed. 

“This is going to be awkward for you.”

“I kinda guessed. You’ve not said much about it.”

“Touch is very important to children growing up,” Jackson began as if talking about a math problem. “In Romania, during the rule of the Ceausescu, there were too many orphans for them to experience … they didn’t get touched enough. The result was a large jump in mental illnesses and other behavioral problems. Touch is also very important among animals, such as wolves. Grooming establishes social bonds.” 

Scott may or may not have been blushing, but he held his peace.

“All of this is useful to me. In order to prevent reversion, I have to — there’s no other way to put it — tend to my identity. I have to be sure of myself as a person and a werewolf. Therapy helps with that, but there’s nothing quite like an intense bond between an alpha and a beta.” Jackson paused to insure maximum effect. “Just as there’s nothing as quite as intense as physical contact. Touch is powerful in a way other senses lack; in humans and werewolves, physical touch between two people creates trust. You open yourself up to the other person.” 

“So … I have to touch you.”

“Yes. And I have to touch you.” 

“Okay.” Scott stammered. “Here’s good, I guess. I should lock the door … get the lights.”

“No. I’ll get them.” Jackson did it slowly and deliberately. He was used to this by now; he looked forward to it. He was glad that Scott hadn’t bolted; it had been a possibility. Alexandrina and the pack over there were adults, and Scott was still really, really young.

Confidently, Jackson stalked back to the bed in the dark bedroom, which was no problem for him anymore. Jackson lay down on the bed next to Scott, and he could hear the slightly elevated beating of the alpha’s heart. 

“I’m sorry, Jackson, this is weird.”

“To you, sure.” Jackson replied airily and laid a hand on the bare part of Scott’s arm. “But then again, you’ve not been taught much at all.”

“What?” It came out like a squeak.

“The only alpha who could teach you anything was Derek, and he had trust issues that could be seen from space. He also came from a family of born wolves. The things he needed to teach you were second nature to him. No one has to teach you to hug your mother.” Jackson chuckled as he shifted closer to the alpha. “Imagine it like meeting an alien who doesn’t understand the concept of friendship. How would you even start teaching them about it?” 

“Oh. So, the alpha in London … “Scott cleared his throat. “She taught you this stuff?”

“Yeah. And it freaked me out at first, just like your freaking out now. Relax, Scott, I’m not going to bite, unless you want me to.” Jackson moved his nose into the side of Scott’s neck. The intimacy was working; Jackson could feel the subtle rush that had helped calm him, which had helped stabilize him. As long as Scott could handle what had to be new for him, Jackson would be able to keep himself that way.

“You need to relax.” Jackson whispered in Scott’s ear. If it was a little breathier than it needed to be, Jackson wasn’t going to flog himself. He deserved a little fun, too. 

“It just … “Scott swallowed. “It just seems a little sexual.”

“It can be, if you want it to be. It’d probably make it more fun for both of us.” 

Scott’s breath hitched. “I … I don’t like you that way. I like Kira … I like girls.” 

“I don’t like you in that way either; I mean, you’re not bad looking but the optimism would be a huge drag. Who says this has to be about romance? You need to learn, Scott, what you really are now.” Everything he said was perfectly true; Jackson wasn’t using Scott. He had learned a lot and now he was sharing it with someone who didn’t know. That Jackson took pleasure in it was a bonus. “And while I know you like Kira, I think by the way your body’s reacting, your last statement is up for debate. You’re not human, and you don’t have to hold onto the hang-ups you had before.”

“Maybe I like my hang-ups!” 

“Sure you do. That’s why you’ve been walking around ready to snap since I came back. You’re so tense it makes me tired.” 

“And having sex with you is going to make it better?”

Jackson grinned in the dark, knowing that Scott could see it. Jackson traced the goosebumps on the flesh. “What can I say? It’s a talent. Seriously, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but why not? Who’s gonna stand up in your face and tell you it’s wrong? You’re a motherfucking alpha werewolf. I’d like to see them try.”

Tentatively, Scott reached out with hand ran it down Jackson’s side. “Like this?” Jackson grunted approval. Suddenly, Scott whispered. “I thought I was …”

“You thought you were hiding it?” Jackson rolled over on top of Scott, straddling him. Scott looked less like a wolf and more like a deer on a highway. Jackson rested both hands on Scott’s shoulders. “Oh, no. Maybe everyone here needs to think you’re perfectly A-Okay, but I don’t.” 

“Jackson …” Whatever Scott was going to say faded. 

“I think you might need this as much as I do.” Jackson let a huge smirk play over his face. Scott would recognize it; this was Jackson’s I’m-going-to-get-what-I-want smirk.

Scott growled; his hands, which had been touching him tenuously, now shot out to grab Jackson by the biceps. With more-than-human strength, he flipped Jackson around so he was on top. Red eyes blazed in the dark. 

Jackson laughed. “And here we go.”

###### 

His phone rang at two a.m. from its location in his jacket pocket on the chair across the room. Supernatural stamina or not, someone was going to die for this. Jackson nearly fell out of bed to get across the room and answer it. 

“This better’d be good.” Jackson growled into the phone.

“You son of a bitch!” 

“Good morning to you, too, Stiles. What the fuck is your problem?” 

“What do you think you’re doing, you stupid lizard ass!” Stiles’ fury was high-pitched, like he was talking through his teeth. He must be in his piece-of-shit jeep. 

“Right now, not sleeping. Thank you very much.” 

Jackson sat back down on his bed and turned the light on. He must really be tired; it was reflex he guessed. He didn’t really need any light at all, but something told him that this might possibly be a very long conversation. 

“You manipulative … Scott told me what you did.” Through the phone, Jackson listened to Stiles slam on the breaks as someone honked their horn at him. “It was yellow. Are you blind?” 

Jackson waited until Stiles’ heart beat and breath returned to normal levels. “What did I do?”

“What did you do? What did you do?! You had sex with him!”

“I can’t see why that is any of your business.”

Stiles sputtered into the phone. “It is!”

“Did I get in the way of a long suspected crush, Stiles?”

“No! No! It’s not like that.”

“Did he tell you everything?”

“Yes, he told me what you told him and what you did, and you don’t see the problem with it?”

“It was consensual. It was fun.” Jackson was tired; he couldn’t resist winding Stiles up a little bit. “To be honest, I didn’t realize how much of an animal Scott could be. It’s really quite something.”

Silence on the phone. The jeep started up again. Jackson had the mental image of Stiles staring at his phone in disbelief. 

“Again, I don’t see why it’s any of your business!”

“Protecting Scott is my business!” 

Jackson considered being gentle, but it was fucking two in the morning. “I don’t believe Scott really needs your protection from what he agreed to do with me.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You think he’s a stupid mark you can twist to your own ends? Do you know what he’s doing right now?”

“Since he told you, freaking out over something he really didn’t need to.” 

“Yes, because he thinks he’s abusing his position.” 

Jackson blinked. “What?”

“You need this, right? That wasn’t a lie? Scott believes you, but he thinks that using you to get off when you have to be with him like that is wrong.”

“Jesus. Maybe he _is_ stupid. I’m the one who suggested it.”

“Worrying about abusing your authority to get laid is not stupid.”

Jackson hadn’t thought about it that way. McCall could really be a goody two-shoes when he put his mind to it. “I’m not manipulating him, Stiles. Everything I told him is true. I hoped you told him not to worry about it.”

There was another brief pause. “I did. I hope next time you do this, you give him a few days to think about things, rather than springing it on him the night of.” 

A grimace spread across his lips. “Fair enough. It wasn’t something new to me.” 

“Scott isn’t like you or me, Jackson.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

There was no answer, but he could hear the jeep pull into a driveway. Stiles must have reached his home.

“You don’t even like him.” Stiles was bitter.

“I like him, just not in a be-my-boyfriend sort of way. I respect him, and I’m not trying to manipulate him. I’m trying to help him while helping myself. Hasn’t he been more relaxed in the last couple of days?”

“Yes.” It sounded like it would have been easier to pull a tooth than get Stiles to admit that. 

“I’m not going to stop, if he wants to continue. I’ll make it clear that it’s my choice. I hope you won’t interfere.”

“What?”

“What happens between him and me is between him and me, just like what happens between me and you is between me and you. We may be pack, but we have our own lives.” Jackson took a deep breath. 

“What is between you and me?”

“For one thing, you need to stop treating me like a threat. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t know that! But even if you aren’t, you can blame me for being angry. You surprised me.” 

“Not every surprise is a crisis, Stiles.” 

“I don’t act like it is!” 

“Really? So you aren’t going to blow your top or something when I ask you to dinner Friday?”

The phone clattered to the ground. It must be a tough phone; it didn’t break or disconnect. 

“Jackson? Are you still there?”

“Yep. Waiting for your answer.” 

“Uhm. What was the question?”

“Are you going to go out to dinner with me Friday?”

“Like … a date? Jackson Whittemore is asking me out on a date. Why?”

“Because I want to. It’s not just because I don’t want you to think I’m a threat, and it’s not just because I think you need to do something fun as much as Scott need to relax. I want to go out to dinner with the asshole who thinks he can call me up at this satanic hour in the morning, and I didn’t hang up on him.”

Silence hung in the air. 

“Stiles?” Jackson waited for a response. “Stiles!”

“I’m thinking!” 

“It’s not that hard of a question. Yes? Or No?”

“Yes!” Stiles shouted into the phone. “Why did you even think I might possibly say yes?”

“Eight months didn’t lessen my conviction about who is attracted to me. Now, I’m going back to bed. See you tomorrow at school.” Without waiting for the other boy to answer, Jackson hung up the phone.


	7. 117 (Part 3: Somebody Planned This)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson makes the rounds of family and gets Stiles into a suit.

Jackson sat in the last class of the day, taking notes as the teacher droned on and on about the equations on the blackboard and waiting for the clock to hit three-thirty. Whoever had the idea to have trigonometry during the last period of the day must have been a sadist. He glanced over to where Lydia was sitting by the window. As much as she enjoyed higher mathematics, even her eyes drifted towards the window and the low winter sunlight outside. It had been a long day.

In school, he always kept his phone on silent; teachers rightfully got irritated if a student demonstrated that they were so incredibly uninterested in their lesson. Carefully, so no one could see, Jackson slid his phone out to check the message. It wasn’t a number he recognized. 

**Come to my loft, please.**

It has to be Derek. After all, he was the only person Jackson knew who had a loft and would use proper spelling and punctuation in a text. While the teacher droned on about trigonometric identity, Jackson thought hard about how he wanted to answer instead. This conversation was going to happen eventually, but Jackson wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to have that discussion _today._

The answer was the same as it had been for many other questions since had returned. If it had to be, why put it off?

**Yes. Be there around four.**

Sending the text had felt so easy, but then again, he was sitting in class far away from Derek Hale. The real conversation was probably going to be much more difficult.

The building that held Derek’s loft was an old factory from the earliest parts of the twentieth century. Jackson never could tell what type of products had been made there -- the smells were too faint -- but it was stolid and brooding, a mysterious relic from the Beacon Hills of long ago. No wonder Derek found himself at home in it.

Jackson knocked respectfully on the door, only to immediately hear Derek tell him it was open. Derek must have heard his approach, but he had given Jackson time. Jackson let out a slow breath; it was going to start out, at least, as a _polite_ conversation. The former alpha was sitting on a couch pretending to read a book when Jackson pulled open the door. It took only a moment for Jackson to sense that they were alone in the loft, though Peter’s scent was pretty strong. Derek stood up when he entered; as a show of respect or simply good manners, Jackson couldn’t tell. 

“I’m glad you came. You want something to drink?” 

“No. I’m good.” Jackson wouldn’t have noticed all the subtle changes in adult Derek if McCall and Lydia hadn’t talked about it. Teen Derek had been frightened and unconscious, but adult Derek seemed far less taciturn and frustrated.

“Would you like to sit down?” 

Since there were exactly three uncomfortable wooden chairs and a sofa, Jackson sat at one end of the couch, at the opposite end from where Derek had been reading. He found himself nervous not only because of his own secrets but also because he couldn’t tell which direction Derek was going to take this. 

Derek studied him as he sat down before he resumed his own seat, casually. “Thank you.”

“For sitting down?” 

The older werewolf chuckled. “No. For providing the ransom money.”

“I thought that was what pack did for each other.”

Derek nodded in appreciation, but Jackson wasn’t quite sure in appreciation of what. 

“Well, anyway, you’re welcome, Derek.”

A simple minute seemed to stretch forever. In the late afternoon sunbeams, an army of motes danced around each other. Derek broke the silence first.

“You seem better.” 

“I _am_ better.”

“I’m glad.” Derek’s sincerity was impossible to miss when he said it. “You found someone to help you over in England?”

Jackson looked away. He suddenly wanted to fluster Derek’s calm. “Alexandrina Blakeslee.”

Derek didn’t frown or get upset, as Jackson had suspected he might. However, the born wolf didn’t bother to conceal his reaction to that news: the Hales’ opinion of the Blakeslees must be similar in nature to the Blakeslees’ opinions of the Hales. “I remember my mom talking about them. They’re … very different than us; they’re more cosmopolitan. Peter would know more; he spent some time with them.”

“Yeah, he did. Alexandrina mentioned him.” Jackson wasn’t going to tell Derek about Peter’s European adventures. Not yet. 

Derek digested the news effortlessly. Jackson was going to have to try harder to ruffle him. 

“I’m glad. She seems to have been really good for you.” Derek sighed at that, but it was less a sigh of pity and more a sigh of self-reflection. “I wish I had been a better alpha to you.” 

Jackson was now the one who ruffled; he hadn’t expected such a blanket confession. “I certainly didn’t make it easy.”

“I shouldn’t have bitten you. I made a mistake; I assumed that your new-found instincts would bring you to my side the way you were meant to be. That didn’t happen. I repeated that mistake with all of my betas; I expected all of you to simply intuit what being in a pack should be like.”

“I think people can forgive you for expecting all of this to work like when you were growing up. What other model did you have? I mean, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” 

“True. I do have a lot to make up for.”

Winding its way through the confidence and genuine regret in Derek’s voice was the tiniest bit of aggression. Jackson had long been familiar with it in his own voice; he had used this tactic himself on many occasions. Derek was going to push past their polite obfuscation to the emotional heart of their past. The former alpha wanted to know what Jackson really thought about him. 

“You know, Scott once accused me of biting you in order to kill you.” 

Jackson could feel his face compress into a scrunch of disbelief. “He did?”

“He’s gotten a lot better, but there’s still a part of Scott that thinks of the Bite as a burden. Back then, he thought it was a curse. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He didn’t want it, and it had turned you into … that.”

“It … did.”

“I turned you into that.”

“Are you trying to get me mad? Because if you are, you’re going to have to work harder, Derek. You gave me what I wanted.” 

“And when I thought you were rejecting the bite, I abandoned you.”

Jackson paused. “You lied. You said you didn’t know what had happened.”

“I lied.” Derek admitted without reservation. “I had an idea, which turned out to be wrong. When I was younger, I arranged for someone I cared about to get the Bite, and she … she rejected it.” 

“So you thought I was dying. Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I abandoned you. And then I tried to kill you.”

“What’s the goal of this? Do you want me to hate you?”

“No!” Derek said it with feeling. “No. That’s the last thing I want. You’re said you’re going to be pack, aren’t you?” 

Jackson nodded.

“And you are. You came to rescue me, when you didn’t have to. You used your own money — which I’m going to pay you back, by the way — to do it. You deserve to know the truth between us, even if it’s ugly. You can’t have trust if there are lies, even if they are lies of omission.”

“It’s that important to you?” 

“I told you, I expected bitten wolves to instinctually know what being pack was about and got angry when they didn’t. That was my biggest mistake. In a real pack, you don’t have to worry about other people. It’s trust. It’s … it’s like a family.” 

“You want me to trust you, Derek?” Jackson said it out loud to make sure he understood what was going on.

“Yes. It’s going to take work, but I’m willing to try if you are.”

No one had apologized to him like this. First off, it was because he didn’t deserve apologies from most of the people he knew. Jackson had been the selfish one, had been the arrogant one, had been the obnoxious one. He had sinned more than been sinned against. Even with Derek, he had wheedled and demanded the Bite, and when he had gotten it had spit on Derek’s offer of pack first, long before Jackson had ever figured out what that meant. Now, Derek had invited him into his home, told him of his past, and asked if Jackson was willing to improve their relationship. It was a bit overwhelming, but it made Jackson’s next act plain to him.

“It’s going to be easier than you think, Derek.” 

“Oh?” 

“Because you’re not just the alpha who bit me.” Jackson smirked a little; sue him, he liked surprising people. “You’re also my cousin.” 

Derek’s eyebrows repositioned themselves on his face, telling Jackson that he was confused but he was trying to puzzle it out. Derek hadn’t heard a lie, of course, because it wasn’t a lie. When he had worked it out, Derek smiled. A long, slow, pleased smile that meant he had more family.

It had actually been a good conversation, after all.

**********

There was a girl perched on the hood of his Porsche when Jackson came out of the gym. He still worked out, but he had to wait until the place was nearly empty, if he really wanted to push himself. Scott had been working that night, so he was alone. He gave the girl his best stink eye.

“You’re Jackson.” 

“And you’re Malia. Wanna tell me why you’re scratching up my hood?” 

“Your car is fine.” She slid off anyway. “I’d thought I’d come check you out.”

Jackson turned around and once with his arms akimbo. “Like what you see?”

“You’re funny. I know I should feel threatened, but I don’t.” She walked up to him and sniffed him. “You smell weird.”

“You managed to be offensive and confusing in one go. Congratulations.” Jackson grimaced. “At least I’m funny. Though, you’re wrong — everyone’s threatened by me.”

“Stiles said you would say that. He told me to take everything you say, squeeze the asshole juice out of it, and then pay attention to only half of it.” Malia crossed her arms. “They took you to Mexico and not me.”

“Uhm.” Jackson wasn’t sure how to react. She made it sound like an accusation of foul play.

“I lived in the woods for eight years. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I was pretty angry with Stiles when he argued that I not go.”

“I guess … he was just trying to protect you.”

Malia frowned at him. She didn’t hold any emotion back, that was for sure.

“What?”

“He wants to protect me more than Lydia or Kira? I don’t believe that. Especially since he’s going on a date with you.” Malia snorted. “He’d never say it, but he thinks that because there are things I don’t quite get, I’m a problem. Yeah, I spent eight years as a coyote, but I spent the nine years before that as a girl. I know how to lie. I know when someone wants me to be happy. I’m better at not being seen then he is; if he lived in the wild, he’d be eaten by now. This is just more of his ‘I know better’ bullshit.”

Jackson turned his head to one side. “I was told you like him.”

“I do like him. I like steak, too, but not the little pieces of gristle that get caught between your teeth if Dad doesn’t trim it right.” Malia uncrossed her arms as if everything was settled. “Are you going somewhere? You could drive me. I want to ride in your car.”

He was about to say something annoying and snobbish, but her bluntness was oddly entertaining and kind of refreshing. “Sure. Get in.” He threw his equipment in the back seat. Malia slid into the other seat, testing the leather. He peeled out as he drove away. He did like to be dramatic. 

After she got settled, Malia turned to watch him. “Needing help with things like math and friends doesn’t make you weak. Stiles acts like I’m stupid all the time.” 

Jackson shrugged. “I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re stupid.”

“He thinks Scott’s stupid, and he’s an alpha.” 

“Oh.” Jackson laughed at that revelation. “Oh, no, he doesn’t.” 

“He certainly talks like it. It’s always ‘Always listen to me, Scott’ or ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Scott.’ He does it to me, too, as if he was the only smart person in the room. Unless Lydia’s in the room. He never does it to her.”

They zipped down the streets of Beacon Hills. 

“No one would do that to Lydia and live to tell about it.” Both of them laughed. For some reason, he didn’t feel uncomfortable with her in the car. “No, Stiles doesn’t think you’re stupid. He needs you to think he’s smarter than you.”

“What? Of course, he’s smarter than me.”

“You see, you know that, and Scott knows that, and lots of people know that. But Stiles wants to make sure you know, because he doesn’t know that.”

“You see, it’s stuff like that I don’t get.”

“Stiles has balls the size of hand grenades. He drove a jeep through a building to knock me on my ass. But, in the end, he still doesn’t think that he’s on our level.”

Malia’s face belied her disbelief but as she thought about it, she nodded. “Okay. So when he calls people stupid, he’s really saying ‘you need me.’ Which he doesn’t have to say, because we do need him, but he doesn’t think we think that.” 

“Right.” 

“That’s annoying.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why’d you ask him out on a date?”

Jackson laughed once again. Malia Tate was a hoot. “If I was feeling like being an asshole, I’d say I like being around people who think they’re inferior to me while pretending they’re not. But that’s not true. Where am I taking you?”

Malia gave an address out near the preserve. “My dad does get freaked out if he’s not sure where I am. He’ll also be suspicious of you. If you being an asshole’s not true, what is true?”

“You actually want to hear the real reason I want to take your boyfriend on a date?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He could be if I wanted; I could be his girlfriend if he wanted. There’s something between him and me that your dinner and a movie isn’t going to ruin.” 

“I’m not trying to ruin anything.”

“Oh, I don’t think you are. I don’t want it because it’d be too much. I’m learning to be human again; I’m learning to be a daughter again. It’s easy with Stiles, I don’t have to learn anything, but … “

“It’d be too easy to focus on that and not learn anything.”

“Something like that. And Stiles thinks he’s taking advantage of me. We’ve decided we’re going to ‘not define’ — his words, not mine — what we have, so we don’t have to give it up.”

“So you don’t mind the date?”

“No.” She eyed him. “You don’t threaten me. But if you start seeing each other and try to make us stop being undefined? I’ll punch you. Hard. A lot.”

Jackson looked over at her and grinned. “Fair enough.”

###### 

Stiles looked very good tonight in a single-breasted navy suit, a white shirt, and a charcoal tie. The outfit made him look far older than a high school junior; it brought out the seriousness in his face. This look was so much better than the abomination that he had worn to the Winter Formal. That had been a shapeless, juvenile, over-excited mess. Jackson was sure that Lydia had helped him get dressed tonight, mostly because Stiles pulled at the jacket’s sleeves as if unused to them, and it had taken him five minutes after sitting down before he had unbuttoned the jacket.

Yes, he looked damned good in that suit. Jackson wondered, just a tiny bit salaciously, just how much better Stiles would look in a suit tailored for him. He picked up the glass of white wine and took a long slow, sip. If whatever this was ever got off the ground, Jackson would have to find out. 

“How exactly did we get served alcohol?” Stiles was looking at his own glass.

“This is the Beacon Hills Country Club, not the Circle K biker bar. If a Whittemore wants to have a glass of wine with his companion, they aren’t going to card us.”

“That was so pompous.” 

“You’ve never sneaked out into the woods and gotten drunk before? I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah … but … Scott and I …”

“Then what does it matter if I use my family connections to get illegal booze or I swipe it from Daddy’s closet when he’s not looking? It’s either wrong, or it’s not wrong.”

Stiles fumed on that one. 

“Is there a problem, Stiles?”

Before the other teen could answer, their waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for both of them, and Stiles nearly choked while he did so. But Stiles wasn’t as rude as everyone seemed to think. He wasn’t going to make a scene in front of everyone in a public place.

After the waiter left, Stiles hissed at him. “I can order my own damn food.”

“You could, or you could let me show you how much I know about what you like and what you don’t like.” Jackson could be very suave when he put his mind to it. “You’ve never been on many dates, have you? Or watched many romantic movies?”

“Depends. I think _The Empire Strikes Back_ is very romantic.” 

“ _I know._ ”

Stiles had his wine glass half-way to his lips, but it froze in mid-air. “You are doing this on purpose.” 

Jackson laughed long and hard. He took another drink of his wine, before he answered. “How many dates have you been on?” 

“Two.” Stiles thought about it. “Ice skating and the Winter Formal.”

At Jackson’s raised eyebrows, Stiles snapped, “I’ve been a little busy!”

“And what did you do on these dates?” 

“Mostly tried to persuade Lydia to like me.” Stiles took a sip of his wine. “Not very effectively, of course.” 

“Of course, you’re you, Stiles. But what you did is what everyone does on their dates. Try to persuade the other person to like you.”

“So that’s the point of all this? Jackson, I don’t even understand why you like me!”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? At the core of this, Jackson had to answer that for himself and for Stiles. He decided to have a little fun with it. He got the feeling that there was a lot of similarity between Lydia and Stiles. Lydia loved a challenge; Stiles loved a mystery.

“Why did you like Lydia?” 

“Have you seen her? Have you listened to her? Have you really talked with her? She was playing dumb _for you_ , you know, and I saw how great she was. She’s a genius; she’s so smart she scares me sometimes, especially since she’s not hiding it anymore.” 

“She can also be a real bitch.” Jackson pointed out.

Stiles looked for a moment like he was going to defend her honor. “You dated her; you knew that. She doesn’t have much patience for people who waste her time or waste their own time. And maybe, just maybe, she tends to cut people down who get in her way. No one’s perfect.”

“Glad you remembered that. Why do you like Malia?” 

Stiles stammered for a moment. “She’s different.”

Jackson gestured with his wine glass for Stiles to continue. 

“Why do you want to know why I like people who aren’t you?” Stiles suddenly demanded. “It’s creepy is what it is. Are you getting off on making me uncomfortable? Is this a huge prank? Because if it is a huge prank, I’m going to congratulate you for your commitment to it and then I’m going to punch you right in your scaly face!”

“It’s not a prank, but don’t change the subject. Malia isn’t much like Lydia.”

“Shows you what you know! Malia may be almost as smart as Lydia. It just seems like she isn’t because she hasn’t been to school for eight years. And she’s also as fierce as Lydia in her own slightly feral way.”

“I know. I met her a few days ago. She threatened to punch me if I tried to disrupt … whatever it is you have.”

“I don’t know what it is. It’s not serious.”

“Could be though?” 

Before Stiles could answer the waiter brought their salads. Surprisingly, Jackson suddenly found himself hungry. Conversations fell by the wayside as they ate. That’s one reason why the dinner date was so useful; the meal actually gave you time to think about what had been said and reposition yourself for the next part of the conversation, if you wanted it to.

“I’m not sure.” Stiles speaks the words when he finishes his salad. He’s also finished his wine. That was a good sign. “I mean, she’s really pretty, and we’ve already determined I like strong-willed, intelligent people, but … it’s the circumstances, man. We saved her at the beginning of my … situation. Part of me kind of connects her to everything. And I made a very poor decision … well, she said yes as well, so I guess we made a very poor decision.”

“Go on.” Jackson intimated. “I’m the last person to judge poor decision-making.”

“We were both lonely and I was … I was terrified. There was like, total consent, but it was in the basement of a mental health hospital on an old couch surrounded by outdated medical files while I was possessed.”

“You did it in the basement of Eichen House? Classy.” 

“You said you weren’t going to judge!”

“I said I wouldn’t judge your decision-making. I’m totally judging the aesthetics.” 

Stiles glared at him and then they both burst into laughter. “Holy shit, Jackson, I didn’t realize you were a bitchy queen.”

“Humph. Don’t use that term unless you want me to show you what exactly it means.” Jackson’s tone was serious, but he smiled to lessen the sting. “I asked you on this date for several reasons. Want to hear them?”

“That’s why I asked!”

“Only if you promise to hear me out, and you don’t storm off if you hear something you don’t like.” 

Stiles studied him for a moment, suspiciously. He fiddled with his napkin.

Jackson affected an air of nonchalance. He was serious; he wasn’t going to tell Stiles anything without his promise. He was banking on Stiles’ natural, insatiable curiosity to push him to promise. He was right. 

“Okay.” The other teen relented.

“You know I always thought you were a complete waste of space. An incredible nerd-loser fixated on my girlfriend.” 

Stiles blinked. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”

“But you survived in what we both discovered was a world that you and I would have never would have thought was real. You didn’t just survive; you won. That’s not something I would have expected; it meant that when I had time to think, I had to … re-evaluate you.”

“Winning for a given definition of winning.” 

“True.” Jackson shrugged. “No one gets through what you and I went through without scars, without damage. When Scott asked me to help you …”

“Scott!” Stiles eyes got big and he pushed back his chair. “Scott asked you … !”

“You promised,” Jackson reminded gently. “You’re going to break it?”

Stiles vibrated like a high-tension wire. “No.”

“When Scott asked me to help you, I expected a basket case. But you’re not a basket case, are you? You’re fucked up, but you’re also harder. No, not harder, sharper. I was seriously impressed.”

Through gritted teeth, Stiles spat. “Scott shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m not a problem he gets to farm out to the new talent. I need to find a bigger set of stairs to push him down.”

“Scott’s doing his best, and it doesn’t take a genius to show he’s about to drown. Are you really that selfish that you’d expect him not to ask for help when he can’t keep his head above water? What am I talking about? You _are_ that selfish; you didn’t even ask for help for yourself. And before you wonder aloud why I would be here if you’re so selfish, remember the type of people _I_ like.” 

The frown on Stiles’ face threatened storm clouds. “So, I’m the new Lydia. You like me because I’m _sharp._ You don’t know …” 

“What don’t I know?”

Stiles suddenly snatched the place mat from under his plate. It was of heavy cream paper, elegant like the whole place was elegant. He began to fold it, his fingers moving swiftly and deftly as if he had done what he was doing a hundred times before. Jackson watched with fascination as Stiles worked the paper into something and presented it to Jackson. It was a camellia flower. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to do origami,” Jackson observed.

“I don’t. I’ve never learned. I’ve never even read about it. I know that this flower can be used to signal regret. I’ve never studied the meanings for flowers in Japanese. This is … it. This is why I’m different.” Stiles tossed it at Jackson. “Not only do I remember everything it did, but sometimes I find myself thinking like it.” 

Jackson studied the flower. It was really quite pretty; he wasn’t a flower-type of boy, but he could appreciate the skill it took to turn a simple piece of paper into a work of arts. “Stiles. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

The look on Stiles’ face would have been exactly the same if Jackson had suddenly stood up and hit him in the side of the head with an ax handle. Shock. Confusion. And then a slow resolution into something that might have been melancholy.

Before they could talk anymore, the food arrived.


	8. Muted (Part 1: Smash the Mirror)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uppity freshmen and family-murdering axe murderers ruin Jackson's morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows dialogue directly from Episode 4x03 "Muted." I do not own Teen Wolf; this homage is for enjoyment purposes only.

It could have been very annoying if Jackson had actually been asleep when his computer chimed at one o’clock in the morning. By all accounts, he _should_ have been fast asleep in preparation for lacrosse tryouts the next day. Lycanthropes, enhanced stamina or not, needed sleep just as much as humans did. Lack of it still dulled their performance, and Jackson had no interest in being humiliated on the pitch.

It _would_ have been annoying, but he happened to be nowhere close to sleeping. He had been sitting in the dim glow of his bedroom, trying to force himself to read some random novel to which he had turned after he had gotten sick of tossing and turning on his bed. 

He’d enjoyed his date with Stiles, more than he thought he would. He’d had even enjoyed it when Stiles’ verbal jabs had struck at his more sensitive weak spots. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he had a particular type of person to which he was attracted: ones that made everything a challenge. Both Lydia and Stiles were, in their own unique ways, complex enigmas. He saw his attraction to them as another measure of his own prowess; their resistance was another obstacle to overcome, another goal to surpass. He had been successful; he had been charming; he could tell that he had started to wear down Stiles’ natural hostility. 

So if it was a victory, why couldn’t he sleep?

The pools of darkness and the creeping silence in his room couldn’t answer. He went to the computer and flipped on the Skype to Alexandrina’s face. She was in her solarium, having breakfast.

“Alpha Blakeslee!” 

“Since when are you so formal with me, Jackson?”

“I’m sorry, but in my defense it was you who taught me that you always address the alpha of another pack in such a way.”

Alexandrina beamed at him from London, pulling at one of her red curls as it feel down across her forehead. One of the things he liked most about her is that she took extraordinary pleasure when it seemed one of her lessons had sunk home. It made you want to learn from her.

“So how have you been? It’s only been six weeks, and we’ve exchanged posts, but it seems like much longer.”

“I know. I’ve been well, but I miss London.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” Jackson felt himself blushing. “I know it may sound weird, but London was so much … simpler.”

The alpha smiled as one might smile at a particularly clever child. Jackson wasn’t upset; he _was_ a child compared to her. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. While you were in London, you had all the benefits of being a stranger. You had no ties to anyone here that I can recall. And the Club, well the Club encourages acquaintanceships, not friendships. One of its best features, besides its discretion, is the lack of obligation. I can hardly blame anyone if they want to take advantage of the ability to walk away from it at any time.

“Like I did.” 

“Like you did.” 

“I didn’t want to stop being a part of the Club, you know.”

“I know, but if there is anything I can understand, it’s that your father’s health comes first. And since I knew that you would find Beacon Hills far more complex and troublesome than our fair city, I’ve called to see how you’re doing.” 

Jackson shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are. That’s why you’re obviously wide awake at what must be just after one in the morning your time.” Her bemused expression made it clear she didn’t believe him.

“Yeah. I’ve not been to bed. I don’t know why.”

One genteel eyebrow raised itself on the computer screen.

“You’re good,” Jackson always swore that Alexandrina possessed the most annoying form of telepathy. “I was hoping that your ability to detect bullshit had a range that didn’t cross oceans. The reason is embarrassing. It’s juvenile.”

“Obviously. But, for all that you’ve been through Jackson, you’re only eighteen. It’s not a particularly heinous crime to act like it once in a while. So, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Jackson stared mulishly at the screen. If it were anyone else, he would have refused, but Alexandrina had made it quite clear that she expected to get what she wanted and those her thwarted her were in deep trouble. The least he could expect if he refused her was to be denied her regard, and Jackson valued her friendship. He valued her counsel, her connections, and her knowledge.

“I like someone, and I don’t know why, and I want him to like me, but I don’t know if he does. At least, not the way I want him to like me.” Jackson spit it out quickly. “See, I told you it was stupid.”

“Oh, ho, ho, ho.” Alexandrina had a good laugh. “Children often think that their problems are either bigger than they are or smaller than they are. You’ll find that most of the world’s history can be boiled down to two questions: ‘Can I take that without anyone stopping me?’ and ‘Does that person feel the same way I do?’ So tell me about this gentleman.”

The sigh that escaped Jackson’s lips was one of false frustration. “He’s a junior, just a year younger than me. He’s twitchy. He thinks he’s smart. He thinks he’s funny. He’s completely insecure and he thinks no one notices that. He’s the alpha’s best friend. Oh, and he managed to survive possession by a nogitsune.”

“I was going to say he sounded like a very uninteresting young man until you reached that last part. Rumors had reached us even here of a nogitsune’s appearance in Beacon Hills.”

“It did?”

“It did. In the mundane world, Beacon Hills may be an unimportant city, but in our world it has a certain significance. There’s a reason I had heard of the Hales and a similar reason I had heard of you. But that’s not important now. What _is_ important is why this disturbs you so.”

“I told him that I thought he’d be a challenge, just like my last girlfriend.” Jackson admitted carefully. “But it turns out to be more than that. I liked Lydia — I may have even loved Lydia a little bit — but it doesn’t feel the same this time. In fact, it’s so different I don’t know what to do. I was sitting with Stiles in a restaurant, and I was … comfortable. With Lydia, I was always _performing_ a little; I always felt the need to be _someone_ when I was with her. Oh, I played with him, but I didn’t feel that I _had_ to. This was a guy who I pretty much thought was an absolute loser when I was here before.”

“May I point out something that may be obvious once I do? You may be comfortable with him because he’s endured a similar situation to you.”

“So has the alpha; he was bitten against his will. So has Lydia, for that matter; Peter Hale attacking her triggered her nature as a banshee.” 

Alexandrina wasn’t going to let it go that easily. She asked about Lydia, and Jackson basically had to repeat what he had said about the banshee to Danny. It was nearly a quarter until two by the time he finished.

“I’m going to let you go, Jackson, and let you get the sleep you need but I want you to know I’ve revised my opinion.”

“You have?”

“You enjoyed the Club here, and you enjoyed my mentoring you. I’m quite afraid that this indicates a certain agreeableness with amorality.” 

Jackson stared at the computer. “Huh.” 

“Remember, amoral doesn’t necessarily mean immoral. Sleep well.”

**********

As much as remaining in bed until the last moment had appealed to him, Jackson had encouraged Scott and Stiles to join him for an early morning practice on the day of lacrosse tryouts. They hadn’t given him any resistance, but he could tell that both of their thoughts were nowhere near the pitch as the trio approach them from the parking lot. His thoughts were, as he was secretly looking forward to practice and tryouts. While he was far, far less irritated by McCall these days, there was still a great deal of pleasure at the thought of showing him up at lacrosse. He may have matured a little bit since his junior year, but as his mentor had pointed out, he was still a teenager. A little satisfaction never hurt anyone.

Stiles was busily reassuring Scott as entered the field from the parking lot. “Of course you’re still the team captain …”

“Co-captain!” Jackson interrupted. Stiles shot him a heatless glare, only for him to respond with a dead-pan just-saying face. 

Scott didn’t seem upset about the co-captain remark. Of course, he wouldn’t be; Scott had thicker skin now than in his sophomore year. Jackson would have to work really hard to get a rise out of the alpha. Luckily, he had had plenty of practice doing that as well. This was going to be fun.

“You got your grades up just as coach told you to, right?” Stiles began again.

“Yeah, but he never told me I was back on the team,” Scott replied carefully. “He just told me to show up at tryouts today.”

“We’ve got bigger things to deal with, anyway. Did you tell Argent about Kate yet?” 

It still amazed Jackson that Scott and Stiles were so comfortable with treating Chris Argent as an ally, though he admitted to himself that he wasn’t here when Mr. Argent had helped them with the troubles during the first semester of their junior year. He easily saw Allison occupying the role of helpful hunter; he probably would have welcomed Allison in that role. He didn’t think he could welcome Chris Argent; he remembered all the menacing-as-fuck ‘fatherly’ talks. He wasn’t going to be involved with that family if he could help it. 

“Ah, I texted him, but he didn’t get back to me.”

Stiles stopped and turned around. “You told him his sister came back from the dead and got the werejaguar upgrade over a text?”

“I didn’t have the money to call France.”

The McCalls didn’t have enough money for a single phone call? Jackson remembered, vaguely, that their house was pretty big, but, then again, it had probably been bought when Scott’s father was still around. Wasn’t the deadbeat paying child support? Jackson decided it would be gross to ask Scott about that now.

“If you think you’ve got money problems, try paying for an MRI and a visit to Eichen House.”

Jackson kept his face impassive and tried to tune them out when they talked about money. Both Scott and Stiles knew how rich he was now that he was almost an adult. Riling up McCall over lacrosse was one thing, but making fun of the fact that they were poor due to the shit they had gone through was quite another. 

“Another notice?

“And this one says ‘final’.” Stiles sighed. “Now what the hell are we even doing here, anyway? We’ve got like 117 million problems and worrying about our status on the lacrosse team is not one of them.”

Jackson chuckled. “You’re right. Somehow, _somehow_ , you were MVP for last year’s state championships. I don’t think Coach is going to forget that. I sure as hell didn’t and I wasn’t even conscious for most of it.” 

“Ha, ha, ha.” Stiles threatened to brain him with his crosse.

“I’m serious, Stiles; I need to see the tapes! I need to.”

Scott interrupted the banter, his jaw dropping. “You know how you said, Stiles, that worrying about our status isn’t a problem? It is now.”

Jackson followed Scott’s eyes to the field where a few freshmen were practicing. While the two taking their shots were good but nothing special, the freshman playing goalie was, to put it bluntly, phenomenal. Jackson evaluated his stance, his coordination, and his conditioning. He had pure physical talent coupled with a dedication to discipline. He would have been more than a match for Jackson when Jackson was that age, and he was easily as good as Scott was now. While pre-Bite Scott had worked hard on physical conditioning and on mastering the sport’s techniques, he had simply lacked the physical talent to be an elite player, and his asthma was the nail in the coffin of any dream to be first line. Even with the werewolf upgrade, this kid could match Scott unless the alpha went all out. Whoever the blond freshman was, he was a far superior goalie than anyone else that Jackson had ever witnessed, but Jackson vowed never to say that aloud in fear it would get back to Danny. 

Stiles could see it too. “Okay, maybe we should practice a little bit.”

And they did practice. Scott and Jackson took turns running the other two through drills. It was only forty-five minutes, but it was enough to start shaking the rust off. Stiles complained the whole time about them being tyrants, but he never quit. He also expressed suspicion about the new freshman, Liam. It was suspicion that Stiles was going to get to the bottom of, no matter how much Jackson and Scott tried to talk him out of it. They accompanied him out of curiosity and solidarity. 

Jackson was mostly curious. Usually, talent such as Liam’s was accompanied by ego. There was no personal reason he would think this, Jackson lied to himself. They ringed the freshman around his locker, and Stiles took the lead.

“Hey, Liam. Want to explain what that was out there?” Stiles led right off.

Jackson crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers, while Scott flanked Stiles.

“What do you mean?” The kid was adorable. 

“That little display. Your little circus act.”

“What circus act?” Liam wasn’t like Jackson at all. Jackson would have picked up on the jealousy, heightened senses or no heightened senses.

“You caught every shot.” 

“I was in goal.” 

“Yeah, but nothing, not a single shot, got past you.”

“Yeah, I was the goalie. You guys play this game before?”

“Freshman like you shouldn’t be sassy to upperclassmen.” Jackson put in his two cents. “You’ve not earned the right. You know damn well what Stiles here is talking about.” 

“I’m … I’m not being … what the hell is sassy?”

Scott, obviously, decided on a more diplomatic approach. “You’re a freshman, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t here last semester.”

“I transferred from Devenford Prep.”

Scott cocked his head. Liam’s heartbeat had skyrocketed. “You transferred?” Jackson heard it as well and gave Liam a huge smirk. 

“Yeah.”

“No, you got kicked out, didn’t you?”

It was a good guess. Jackson would call Danny that night and get the lowdown on the kid. He studied the locker until he found something with his last name on it: Dunbar. 

“All right, look. Kicked out or transferred, what do you guys care? I came here to play lacrosse. The team could use a few good players, right?”

“Whoa.” Jackson held up his hand. “That’s a little bold, isn’t it? I think that we’ll be the judge of how good you are.” Coach would actually be the judge, but Coach would look for input from his co-captains.

“No. No, we don’t need any more good players.”

“Actually, we could sorta use a couple.”

Jackson sighed. Leave it to McCall to undercut the intimidation factor. 

Stiles, on the other hand, was in full spastic conspiracy mode. This was the Stiles Jackson had mocked during his sophomore and their freshman year. “Okay, how’d you get this good? Have you always been this good? Or did it suddenly just happen once over night? Have you ever been out in the middle of the woods during the night of a full moon …?”

“Stiles!”

“Hmmm.”

“Look, I learned from my stepfather, all right? He made team captain when he was sophomore. Like you. And, yeah … I guess I’m just that good.”

There was the spark of ego. Not too big, but big enough to spur competition on the field. This kid was going to be good. Not as good as him, Jackson promised himself, but still good.

“He wasn’t lying that time.”

“Stiles,” Jackson put in, slapping him on the shoulder. “Relax. He’s good, but he’s young. We’ll have to see how he performs in a real game before we start worrying. I joked about it before, but you essentially won the State Championship last year. Coach isn’t going to forget that.”

It turned out that Coach did forget that, but it wasn’t going to happen until after school.

**********

Jackson could smell the irritation coming off of Stiles in fourth period. Even if he hadn’t, he would have been able to tell by the nervous drumming of his fingers against the desk top and the complete inattention to the lecture on civil disobedience. Something was gnawing at Stiles.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jackson whispered. He was used to creatures with greater hearing than a normal human, so he wasn’t sure if the other teen could pick it up. Stiles glanced over at him and then focused back on his desk.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Stiles, on the other hand, was used to pitching his voice so only werewolves could hear.

“Mmmmhmmmmm.” Jackson put as much sarcasm as he could must into it.

The teacher continued on opening up the discussion for the class to put forth their ideas. Jackson was uninterested. Stiles looked to be uninterested as well, but, in the end, no one could really tell with him. Stiles might remain quiet and then burst forth in a torrent of ideas, usually ones that subverted whatever topic the teacher was trying to write. 

The truth was that if you could say anything about him, it was that Stiles reacted; it was as fundamental to him as breathing and flannel. He might be quiet and complacent until something struck his interest, and then he would hone into it with laser-like focus, at least until the next interesting thing came along. The irritating thing for most people would be that Stiles’ idea of interesting was seldom the same as theirs.

His sarcasm had failed to calm Stiles down. Finally, Stiles replied to Jackson. “Did you hear about the murders?”

Jackson’s face palmed in the middle of class. “No.”

“An entire family got murdered with an axe. Three people dead in their house.”

“Did you tell Scott?” 

Stiles snorted. Out loud. The whole class looked at him, including the teacher. 

“Mr. Stilinski, is there something you wanted to share about Gandhi’s 1948 hunger strike?” 

“No, ma’am.” Stiles tried to look as innocent as he possibly could. 

The teacher looked at him and then moved to break people up into groups. The subject would be reasons for students to practice civil disobedience in Beacon Hills. Jackson volunteered to work with Stiles and some mousy girl — Jackson thought her name was Sydney — was their third. Jackson gave her the eyebrow and she found another group.

“Yes, I told Scott.”

“And what did he say?”

“He and Kira wanted to go to Economics. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go to Economics?”

“People who want a decent grade point average?”

Stiles gave him a pursed-lips sneer. 

“I’m serious. I’m surprised that Scott managed to pass any class sophomore year. I was lucky that my grades were already straight A-s before the Bite; I could deal with one bad semester, and I wasn’t involved in half the shit he was.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He went to summer school.” 

“See? Not unreasonable.”

“And my father and his mother want us to stay out of it, because there’s a possibility that it’s just a … family-murdering axe murderer.”

“And thus, none of the pack’s business.”

“It is my business!” Stiles raised his voice again and flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get on top of things before they grow too big.”

“Not to sound like a nagging boyfriend after one date, or maybe you’re just morbid.”

“This _isn’t_ like finding a dead body in the woods,” spat Stiles. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then _make_ me understand.” Jackson wasn’t like Scott, who was so used to Stiles’ quirks and obsessions that he let them flow over him like water over a stone. To Scott, it was Stiles being Stiles; the alpha’s first reaction was to let this frustration flow away and get back to being friends. It was an old habit, and it wasn’t going to be any useful in the light of the recent past. 

“I’m not like Lydia. I don’t have any means of hearing more than I’m supposed to or predicting things. It’s like …” Stiles reached for the words. “Ever see one of those games where they show you a normal picture, but there is something wrong with it that isn’t immediately noticeable? You’ll be shocked when you see it!” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen them.”

“Sometimes, the entire world is like that to me, now.” Stiles chewed on his thumb. “I’m looking at it and sometimes there’s just something wrong. There’s a piece out of place, like a pattern that I know is there but I can’t quite see. I have always had an eye for it but now …” 

“Now you can’t stop.” 

“No. No, I’m not out of control,” Stiles protested. “I’m not!” 

Jackson fell silent. Either Stiles would tell him or he wouldn’t.

“It’s not one thing. I … you’re right, I am morbid. I like the excitement of a mystery. I like being important, I like doing things that other people can’t do or won’t do. I have to be honest … part of me wants to go look at the Walcott family home just for the thrill of it.”

“Morbid may not have been the best word …”

“Insensitive? Creepy? Choose any word you like. I know what words I’d choose: feeding.”

“Whoa, Stiles …”

In the middle of the class room, Stiles looked like he was the scene of a race between tears or a panic attack. Jackson didn’t know what to do, so he reached out under the desk and squeezed Stiles hand. Jackson almost blushed to do it. 

“There’s a reason it chose me. I’ve always been excited by the dark and what I could find there. The only difference between me and it is that I wouldn’t die if I stopped. But I won’t stop — not can’t, but won’t.”

Jackson squeezed the hand once and then let go. “Why?”

“I need to be able to do this. I pushed Scott down the stairs because I thought he was benching me. He can’t bench me. It’s what I do. It’s how I help; it’s how I belong. The consequences of not doing it is to be useless, and that’s not fair. It’s not fair to him, it’s not fair to Lydia, it’s not even fair to you … I know damn well that I’m the only who could wash my hands of this.”

“Obviously not.”

“What?”

“I kept the origami you made for me.”

“That’s just memories. Just things I remembered from it.”

“And you can sense the flaws in the pattern of the world, or however you described it to me.” 

“Jackson, I’m still human.”

“Obviously not.”

Stiles stilled. To hear someone so casually dismiss his humanity must not have happened to him before. Jackson didn’t care. It had to happen sometime. 

“You’re not human. You may not have teeth or claws, but you’re not human. And if you get all pissy about it, I’m probably not going to date you anymore. It’s insulting.”

“I was …”

“Every single one of your friends has gone through something similar. So maybe you should stop defending your humanity and get with the program. Maybe you should stop being afraid of what you can do and start embracing it.”

“Easy …” Stile bit his tongue.

“I damn well know you weren’t going to say ‘Easy for you to say.’ It’s not easy. But here’s something I learned — it’s healthy.” Jackson squeezed his hand once more. “And if you let me, I’ll help you embrace it.”


	9. Muted (Part 2: Steal All Your Glory)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has lunch with Kira, Stiles has English with the past, and lacrosse try-outs seem to be a little more difficult than they should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows dialogue directly from Episode 4x03 "Muted." I do not own Teen Wolf; this homage is for enjoyment purposes only.

The meat lay there, menacing in its unknowable qualities. Jackson stared at it. What the hell had he been thinking, deciding to eat cafeteria food? He picked up a fork and jabbed at the lump, half suspecting it would put up a fight. However, nestled between grayish-green string beans and something that might possibly be mashed potatoes, the meat gave up without much of a struggle.

Kira slid into the seat across from him. She had a puzzled frown on her face as she did so, but it didn’t look like it was directed at him. Jackson eyebrows raised with surprise.

“Oh. Am I … the pack usually sits together at lunch. Did you not want to sit together? If you did, I can go. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Kira explained apologetically.

The truth was that Jackson had become used to eating lunch alone; he hadn’t made many friends at the school in Britain. It just seemed easier than the small talk and boasting that he had back at BHHS. The idea of resuming that type of talk wasn’t very interesting to him at all. However, he found that he wasn’t dreading sitting with the kitsune, even while she was still awkwardly rambling at him. On the trip to Mexico, he had found her to be friendly and reliable, and it didn’t hurt that she was pretty.

“Suit yourself.” He offered a small smile and pushed out a chair with his foot. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Good.” She arranged herself across from him. She dug her lunch out of her backpack, distractedly. 

Jackson took another look at his tray. He could try to eat this food, or he could talk to Kira. “What the hell were they thinking?”

Kira peered over at his lunch. “It looks pretty disgusting. I brought mine. Wanna share?”

“If you have enough. It’s got to be better than this.”

Kira withdrew two bento boxes and three bags of Doritos from her bag and arranged them on the table. She left them where he could see them; the sushi was of all different types: pressed oshi, nigiri, and maki.

“You … must be very hungry.” He wondered if kitsune ate more than 

“No. Dad loves displaying his chef skills and always makes too much, so I eat it for the next two days at school. Cool Ranch or Nacho Cheese?”

Jackson considered and then pointed at one of the boxes. “Nacho. May I?” 

“You like sushi?”

“Of course.” He gave her his best shit-eating grin. “Who doesn’t?” 

“Scott ...” She immediately regretted saying it; she could tell by the blush. As he watched Kira, she shrugged. “My father invited him home once and made sushi, and he had never had it before. It … didn’t go well. But the problem is he’s avoided it ever since.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No. No!” Her blush made her even cuter. “I’m not sure …”

Jackson ate a piece of sushi with the chopsticks that were included in the box while waiting for the kitsune to gather her thoughts together. “Wow. This is really good.”

“Thank you. My dad will be happy.”

Kira picked up her own chopsticks and picked at her box, while Jackson worked on his slowly and steadily. The disgusting cafeteria food was an unpleasant memory, pushed to the side. Jackson didn’t need to press the conversation. 

“It’s … sometimes I think Scott doesn’t know what he’s doing …” Kira began.

“You’re not the only one.” 

“Not like that!” Kira protested. “I mean. He avoids things that he doesn’t like. I’ve tried to get him to try sushi again, starting with what most … non-Asian people seem to like, but he just doesn’t want to try. I don’t think he understands how important that is to my Dad that Scott eat with us, and how important being able to make food for others isn’t to him. And that’s not the only thing. This morning, he kissed me like it was nothing.”

“Is that … bad? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. And I don’t know if it is bad or … I don’t know what it means! It’s like we … he likes me and I like him, and there’s no problem with that. When bad things are happening, he’s perfect, but when things aren’t that big, it’s like we’re on two different wavelengths. I’m in one spot and he’s in another, and I …”

“You want to know where you stand.”

“I just keep wondering if my mother was right.” She bit her lip.

“Your mother doesn’t like Scott?”

“She doesn’t like werewolves. She says that foxes and wolves tend not to get along.”

“Well that’s … sorta vague.” Jackson popped open hid Doritos and started snacking. Who would have known he liked gossip?

“I know, right? Did she mean they’re mystically opposed? Or biologically? I’m not sure!”

Jackson finished chewing up his chip before he went on. “What did you she say when you asked her?”

Kira looked up at him and frowned, as if the obviousness of that tactic was new to her. Instead of answering right away, she ate another piece of sushi, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. “I don’t ask my mother as many questions as I did before. I guess a part of me still doesn’t trust her completely. I supposed I could ask her what she meant by that.”

“It might be a good place to start. Or you could ask Scott to be your boyfriend.”

She look scandalized. “I couldn’t do that!” 

“Why not?”

Kira teetered on the verge of panic, but she really couldn’t answer. 

Feeling a tiny bit vindictive, Jackson went on. “You really have to stop. It’s not going to do any good.”

“What won’t?”

“You want to be like every other girl in this room. You want to be human; you want to do things like humans do, and that includes this whole will-you, won’t-you boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. And that’s great! Humanity is …” He snapped another chip in his mouth and continued on in a deadpan voice. “Awesome. But you aren’t human. I’m not human. No one in our pack is human. So things are going to be different than they are for humans. There’s a difference between holding on to your humanity and being a slave to it.”

Kira shied away as if he had slapped her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look Scott McCall wasn’t the most perceptive guy before the Bite. Someday, I’ll tell you the story of how his mom does all his grocery shopping. But now that he’s an alpha, he’s taking it very seriously. He’s focused.” Jackson tapped his left pointer finger into his right palm. “But he’s focused so tightly on his duties as alpha, on the problems we’re facing and the problems we haven’t faced yet, that in a way he’s even more oblivious. He’s going to miss the subtle clues that other boys wouldn’t miss, because they don’t have to worry about bone-clad monster-thugs.”

The girl nodded as she listened to him. The agreement made him feel a little guilty; he was sure she didn’t know about his arrangement with Scott. There was no good way to tell someone that you had had sex with the boy that they wanted to be in a romantic relationship with, and you intended to keep doing it for reasons of mental health. Jackson didn’t know her well enough for that.

“I guess you’re right, but it’s not like I know what I’m supposed to know, and my mother isn’t telling me much.”

“Make her tell you.”

“Easier said than done.” 

“Short sheet her bed.” 

Kira burst out into giggles. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“I’ll teach you. We used to prank other players during away games where he had to stay the night in a motel.” 

“How will that make her tell me?”

“You’re a trickster, aren’t you? If you play enough pranks on her, she’ll get annoyed enough to find out why. Do you think she’ll be angry or flattered?”

A smile flashed across the girl’s face. She imagined her mother being pranked and pranked hard. “I like the idea. I’ll do it.”

Jackson finished off his chips and rubbed his hand on the napkin he had taken from the bento box. “I’m going to give you another piece of advice.”

“Sure.” She flashed a smile at him.

“If you get up the nerve to ask Scott to be your boyfriend, make him tell you about me. It’ll save trouble in the long run.”

“How could you be any trouble?”

Jackson burst out into laughter, long and loud. Other tables looked over at him and his companion. He forced himself to stop. He tried to compose himself and compose an answer to Kira, but he couldn’t. He burst out laughing once again.

******** ******

**  
******  


********

Stiles felt like pelting the English teacher with his pen. It should be against the law to make students be creative on demand. After spending half the period talking about Japanese poetry forms and how the haiku influenced Western poetry, the sadistic bastard had insisted that each student spend the rest of the evening attempting to write one of their own. Stiles wasn’t quite sure that the teacher wasn’t another monster, even though Stiles had thoroughly vetted him.

The single college-ruled piece of paper lay on the desk before him. Its emptiness mocked him like one of Scott’s bad jokes. He had ideas; he had a lot of ideas. The problem was he couldn’t make them fit into the rules of the haiku. The emotions and the situation must occur in a single moment. First line, five syllables. Second line, seven syllables. Third line, five syllables.

It was going to be impossible. Stiles wasn’t one to comply with the rules in the best of times. The restrictions of haiku were like a dam in his mind, fixated on what he couldn’t do, not what he could do. He had a relatively good grade in the class, so it wouldn’t be absolutely terrible if he didn’t hand anything in. 

The teacher, while floating around the room, had offered him unhelpful suggestions to get started. Even Greenberg was writing. Greenberg!

It would come to no one’s surprise that this bothered Stiles a great deal. It had ever since he was little — no, strike that — it had ever since his mother died. It always came back to his mother. She was the one to treat him as the most special person in her life, and then when she died, no one treated him like that anymore. His father loved him; he never doubted that. But his father never considered him better than other people. He never treated him like he was special or important. 

This was a problem. When his mother slipped into her dementia and began to see him as a monster and a killer, a vicious little thought creeped into his immature child’s mind. She had said he was special but she then saw him as wicked. If she saw was wrong about him being a killer, what else had she been wrong about? Maybe he wasn’t special after all. Maybe he was just a hyperactive little bastard ruining people’s lives. He began to lash out at school and at home. Even now, he wasn’t sure what the goal had been. Maybe he had wanted someone to confirm the truth — what was he?

The solution had been Scott. Scott was always willing to listen to him. Scott was always willing to let him take the lead. No matter how bad Stiles’ ideas turn out, no matter how much trouble they got into, Scott would give him that same dopey smile and wait for him to lead them into trouble again. No matter how much he rambled on about anything, Scott had always listened as if they were the best things ever said. Even when they fought — and oh, boy, did they fight — Scott was always so upset by it. Scott had always been openly afraid that they would stop being friends. Stiles had been afraid, too, but he would never show it. 

And then the Bite had happened. Then Allison had happened. Then Isaac and being Alpha happened. And Scott treated them with the same care and devotion and sensitivity with which he had always treated Stiles. It should have been something good, that he had a friend as nice as Scott. But it wasn’t. Because, once again, he wasn’t special anymore. 

Paranoia is a python. It wraps itself around your throat and it squeezes. You can’t say what’s really wrong. You can’t move. And the more you try to fight it, the more it squeezes. In the darkness of Stiles’ bedroom, late, late at night, a venomous flower bloomed: what if Scott was like his mother. What if he was lying?

How special could he be if he couldn’t even solve a mystery … protect his friends … resist a demon … write a simple poem?

He stared up at the ceiling for inspiration, but it was being stingy. His mind drifted to his date with Jackson. The whole thing had been surreal, though it was relevant to the pickle he found himself in. Jackson — smug, asshole, jock, rich-boy, prick Jackson — had taken him on a date. And it had been nice. It had been more than nice. It had made him feel special.

Jackson had suggested, after Stiles had told him about his unfounded skill in origami, that he should try embracing who he was rather than running from it. It made a certain bit of sense, of course. If he had access to some of the memories of the nogitsune, why not use them? It wasn’t as if he was acting like it; he was just using what had been left behind. And since the nogitsune clearly originated from Japan, maybe it knew how to write haiku? 

Of course, the problem was that he had never done anything like searching his mind for residual memories of a possessing void fox before. Theoretically, he knew several mnemonic tricks and how they worked. When he had learned that Lydia had been having fugue states, he had read on ways to find out was happening to here. He had never expected it to be Peter’s resurrection back-up plan. 

Technically, though, if he had a memory of the nogitsune writing poetry, attempting to write poetry would have been the most likely triggered it. That’s how memories work.

“Unless you’re suppressing those memories, dumbass,” Stiles whispered to himself.

He thought back to the time when he had learned that he knew how to do origami. He’d been turning a piece of paper over and over in his hands, waiting for the second MRI his father had insisted he receive after the nogitsune had been driven out. He looked down to find a perfect flower, and he had been terrified it. The only reason he hadn’t had a panic attack was the drugs he had already taken to be sedated enough to get into the MRI machine.

That memory had emerged when he wasn’t focused on what he was doing, so Stiles decided to meditate. Meditation was not impossible with ADHD; it was simply a lot more difficult than normal. He tried to think of nothing in particular while still being aware of the paper before him and the pencil in his hand. 

The recall was so smooth Stiles only noticed when he looked down at his lap. He wasn’t sitting an uncomfortable school desk anymore. He was kneeling before a writing table with all the tools needed for shodo. Stiles picked up the brush with his right hand and ground the inkstone with his left. The ideas for the poem floated in his mind; chose a moment and then freeze it as if the world had become ice. 

With a delicate hand, memory-Stiles wrote something about crimson flowers on stone. Stiles wasn’t a particularly poetic person, so the imagery escaped him. He placed the brush on the table, where it belonged and stood up. He shuffled over to the sliding door and opened it up to the garden outside. He was going deeper into the memory, carried along by it.

The work of art outside might not have been poetry, but it was still beautiful in its own right. In the beautiful garden, warriors were sprawled across the ground. Some were dead, some were dying. Stiles walked toward the place he knew he had to go. 

He passed by a pond, shimmering and calm, with no blood seeping into it. When Stiles looked down, he saw herself: not the most beautiful maiden this fief had ever seen, but neither was she plain. She sighed, satisfied and picked her way to where her one of the older warriors lay.

The man was dying, but he looked up at her as if he could protect her. Fool.

“Do you think this poem is good, father?” Stiles asked in Japanese.

“You … did … this?”

“We did this.” She flashed him her silver teeth and let the moon reflect in her eyes. “Like all good poems, we put a word here and a word there and … beauty.” 

The man was horrified. The remains of the battle spread out from the garden across the entire estate. “Why?” He gasped out.

“You didn’t care that we had talent. You didn’t care that we had dreams of the capital. You would have married us to that crude dolt …” Stiles gestured with her to the corpse of the oldest son of the opposing family. “So you could have peace without giving up any land. Dirt was more important to you than us.” 

Stiles bent down and pulled her father into a sitting position. “We prayed to the Buddha, but there was no mercy. We prayed to the ancestors, but there was no wisdom. No answers. But the fox answered.” 

It would not be long now; she could feel her father’s pain subsiding. Death brought an end to pain. 

“We have honored the family; we have destroyed its rival. Of course, you have died too. And when all of you are gone, the lords of the neighboring lands will come and fight over this one. So much strife. We can’t wait.”

She stood up and smoothed her kimono. “And then, when that is over, we shall go to the capital.” She turned and walked back towards her room.

Stiles pulled himself out of the memory with a start. He looked around the classroom to see if anyone else had noticed him drifting off. No one paid much attention to him nowadays. Some never had; some had sensed something dangerous about him and avoided him. 

Written on the paper was the poem that the memory had brought up. It was written in Japanese, but Stiles could translate that, now, easily enough. 

His hand was shaking as he took a new piece of paper. The memory had not threatened to overwhelm him; he knew what was real. But it had been like a very vivid daydream, and that was what he worried about. Because he understood the girl who had been the nogitsune’s host so long ago. He sympathized with her. He empathized with her.

And that could be very dangerous.

******** ******

********

********

Jackson got dressed in the locker room as the tryouts were gearing up. He could smell the anxiety in the room; people were right to be nervous. Coach had a habit of making tryouts nerve racking. When he was a freshman, several seniors had took him aside and told him that Coach always had a method to his madness. He would act disinterested or angry when he was trying to rattle your cage. If he felt that you weren’t giving it your all, he’d push you by playing your insecurities.

It was one of the reasons he had been so angry when Scott’s star had begun to rise during Jackson’s junior year. It wasn’t really because the team couldn’t use better players, and it wasn’t — not at first — because he thought Scott was cheating. It was because Jackson wanted something to secure. He was the best player on the team, and every time the Coach would promote Scott, it was as if he was slapping Jackson: _you’re not giving it your all_.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, Coach had never taken anything away from him. He was still a star player, and he was always going to be one. He was fit, he was ready. It would be good to strut his stuff on the field. He allowed what others might have called an arrogant smile to creep across his face. He considered it his due reward.

Scott and Stiles were getting ready a few lockers down. Scott was describing how he had kissed Kira before class, and he was now panicking over it. Jackson turned his head to the side. When you realized how intense Scott’s relationships tended to be, it was easy to forget that he had only really been in one before, and that had been with Allison. They had only gone out for two months, from mid-January to the end of March, and that there had been almost seven whole months between the end of that relationship and his first date with Kira (or so Kira had told him.) Even when he had dated them, the alpha’s life had been filled with other important things. He was still pretty much a novice.

Jackson was older and more stable. He wasn’t a nearly unbearable romantic like McCall. Just like he wouldn’t want McCall’s responsibilities, he wouldn’t want to be burdened with that type of earnestness when it came to romance. There wouldn’t be birds singing when he kissed someone, but he wouldn’t be panicking either. He knew what he was doing.

The whistle blew, drawing attention to Coach. “As a reminder it’s an open tryout today. All positions available. This is a rebuilding season, people. Jackson’s gone. Lahey’s gone …”

“Uh, Coach?” Jackson called out. “I’m … right here.”

Coach gave him the eye. “You’re not _supposed_ to be here. You left.”

“I did leave. I came back.”

“How am I supposed to know when people change things? Nobody tells me anything!” Finstock pounded one hand on the clipboard. “I have to put up with this crap. And with Greenberg. Get your asses on the field.” 

Jackson was sauntering over to exit — he always made it a point to walk out with coach. Scott had beaten him to the man and was stuttering through the questions. He needed to ask directly; subtlety was lost on Coach.

Scott finally got to his point. “But am I … everything I was on the team before?”

“All positions are open.”

That answer wasn’t what McCall wanted to hear, and Jackson saw the angry set of the alpha’s shoulders. He could have walked over and told McCall that he had nothing to worry about. Scott’s skills would get him a chance at the captaincy, but his seasoning and his leadership capabilities would secure it. Jackson decided to let McCall sweat a little; he kept telling himself to have a little fun and watching the alpha squirm for a bit wouldn’t be too bad.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Stiles glare at the freshman, Liam Dunbar. The loyalty should be nothing new; Stiles had taken care of Scott for years; it was as easy for him to do it as breathing. Letting Coach wander out by himself, Jackson stalked up to Stiles.

“Relax. Dunbar’s no threat to Scott.”

Stiles turned on him. He was flustered. “Why should I listen to you?”

“You and Scott have never had time to concentrate on the team when you weren’t waxing the bench with your rear ends. Coach is all talk.”

Stiles snorted and turned away, but there was enough of real irritation and not Stiles-affection-irritation to both Jackson. He didn’t know why he would do this right now. “Did I do something?”

“No!” Stiles’ face shattered in confusion but then he put it right back together in the lamest approximation of an ‘everything is fine’ face that Jackson had ever seen. And he had seen a lot of them in the mirror.

“Good. You’d tell me if I did something, right?”

“I would.” Stiles lied like a dog so badly he might have had fleas. 

Jackson thought about pushing on it, but try outs were right now. “We’d best get out there. Show me what you can do.”

Something he said caused Stiles to wilt, but he kept his game face on. “Sure enough.”


	10. Muted (Part 3: You're Still Only Human)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson watches Scott and Stiles fumble lacrosse tryouts; Jackson's, Stiles' and Malia's study session is interrupted by relationship and supernatural stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows dialogue directly from Episode 4x03 "Muted." I do not own Teen Wolf; this homage is for enjoyment purposes only.

Jackson sprinted around the practice pitch with the rest of the team. He kept one eye on his surroundings and made sure that he was always the fifth person from the lead. Scott followed his example — which felt strangely good to Jackson — and kept directly behind him in sixth place. He had the speed and stamina to outrace everyone one the field but Scott, but he no longer needed to do so. 

Liam Dunbar, on the other hand, sure had a need to come in first. With a skill that hat to be the result of a combination of discipline and effort, he took the lead early in the run and he kept it until they were finished. In a completely unnecessary attempt to show off, he then started doing pushups. Jackson would have been irritated with the little twerp, but he remembered doing the same thing his freshman year.

_Ah, nostalgia._

Stiles came in last, dropping to the ground in an exhausted heap. He mugged as if he was going to throw up a lung as Scott picked him up. Jackson laughed, and he didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. Stiles was in good shape, though not as good as he and Scott. That wasn’t his fault. His fault was that Stiles simply had no idea how to pace himself. He went all out from the start of the run and so ran out of energy halfway through, virtually crawling across the finish line.

After the team had recovered from the run, they started taking practice shots. Jackson knew the goalie from last year and could pinpoint his blind spots in his sleep. Dunbar took his shot and had great form and good control. 

Stiles’ first shot wasn’t as good, but Stiles’ coordination had never been the best. He plopped the ball right into the goalie’s Crosse.

It was Scott’s shots that were surprisingly all over the place. Jackson narrowed his eyes in confusion. Scott hadn’t even been this bad before the werewolf bite. After several embarrassing rounds of getting the ball nowhere near the net, Scott and Stiles convened for an impromptu meeting on the side of the field. Jackson trotted up to talk to them, hearing that Stiles was still convinced that Dunbar was supernatural. He wasn’t.

“Can’t you just use a little bit of ‘wolf power’?”

“I can’t; it’d be cheating.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and blew air out of his nose. He was going to have to buy some werewolf-strength aspirin if he was going to stay in this pack. 

“McCall. Look at Greenberg over there. He’s slow. Uncoordinated. He has terrible focus. The only thing he has going for him is a sort of stubborn stamina, like a brontosaurus. His brain doesn’t receive signals fast enough to realize he should get tired. Now look at that Garrett freshman. He’s quick. Very coordinated. I’ve never seen a freshman with that level of hand-eye coordination before. He’s going to be a stone-cold killer when it comes to making corner shots.”

“Okay.” Scott was not following his point at all.

“Now, don’t you think we should go over there and scold Garrett for cheating? After all, he’s in a much better position to get on the team at these tryouts than Greenberg because of his natural abilities.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Scott lowered his voice. “They’re human, and I’m not.”

“It is _exactly_ the same thing. Garrett’s better than Greenberg and you’re better than Garrett. Tell me, Scott, how many oni did Garrett fight?”

“Uhhhh … what?”

“How did Greenberg help stop me when I was scaling up the place?”

Scott and Stiles looked at him like he wasn’t making any sense.

“Isn’t it just as much their responsibility as yours to help with that type of stuff?”

Scott got that confused look when he hadn’t caught up with the answer yet. He would, eventually. “Because I have powers, and it doesn’t matter that I didn’t want them, because now that I have them, I can do things to help. Which means I have to.”

“What self-serving socialist twat told you that?”

Scott looked down at his feet rather than answer, but Jackson caught Stiles giving him the death glare to end all death glares. 

_Oh, shit,_ Jackson thought. _I’m going to pay for that. But in for a penny, in for a pound._

“If you’re going to be responsible for putting your life on the line because of abilities you never asked for — and even if you had asked for them — then you get the benefits as well. After all, we’re not talking about advantage in terms of political power or the ability to receive a fair trial — we’re talking about a fucking lacrosse team.”

Stiles wasn’t going to let the comment go. “Is that why you went for the Bite?”

“I never said I wasn’t a self-serving twat, too, did I? You were the one begging him to use a little ‘wolf power.’”

Scott shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

Stiles urged. “Maybe you should. I just hate to see this twink come in and steal all your glory after you worked your tuchis off. I hate it.” 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Okay, boy scout, then if you don’t want to use any ‘wolf power’ …” Jackson employed air quotes. “Then you need to relax and focus.”

“I am focusing!”

“No, you’re not. Half of you is thinking about your grandma kiss with Kira. Half of you if thinking about whether you should tell her about us. Half of you is thinking about the 117 million dollars stolen from that vault. Half of you is thinking about Kate Argent. That leaves only a half of you thinking about this practice.”

“That’s five halves, Jackson.”

“Thank you, Stiles. It’s called an exaggeration for effect, jackass.” Jackson turned back to Scott. “You need to push everything else out of your mind. Do you want to be on the team? Do you want to be captain?”

“Yes.” Scott’s eyes flashed red. 

“Then everything else gets to take a back seat, right fucking now. You look pathetic out there, and you’ll keep looking pathetic until you go out there and play lacrosse.”

“Oh, that’s the Jackson we know and love.” Stiles words had no heat, but Jackson was definitely going to play along with the insinuation.

“You love me, Stiles? I will totally use that against you.” Jackson punched his alpha in the shoulder. “Come on, McCall. Trust me in this — if there’s one thing I know, it’s this game.”

Stiles stuck out his tongue. “And what about me?”

“You just plain suck, Stiles. But, on the bright side, you’re pretty. So all I can offer is — try not to fuck up too badly?”

Coach blew the whistle. “McCall! And Stilinski. Grab the long sticks. You’re covering the goal for two on ones.”

Jackson waited in line with the others, talking to some friends from before, while watching the action up front. As defenders, Stiles and Scott were doing much better than they were before. You could laugh all you want at the jokes about them being joined at the hip, but they were a good team. It was the seamless trust between them, and for a second he envied them. He had never had that, not even with Danny.

Jackson lifted his Crosse in salute to the pair of them when it was his turn. He charged forward and then at the last moment stutter stepped to the left so Scott would lunge at him, leaving himself open for Jackson to trip him up. It was a near thing. But he left the Crosse open and Stiles knocked the ball out with his own stick. There was a cheer from the stands.

He bent down to give Scott a hand up, but Stiles stomped over and stood right next to him. “You let me get the block on purpose, didn’t you?”

Jackson batted his eyes at him. “Prove it.” Stiles sputtered at him.

It was Dunbar’s turn next and he managed to get past both of them. Jackson grimaced as he heard Scott’s heart rate increase. He hadn’t taken Jackson’s trip personally, and that had gratified Jackson, but he was frustrated with the idea that this highly-talented twerp was going to surpass him. Maybe Jackson shouldn’t have pushed too hard.

Malia jumped up and challenged Coach on Scott and Stiles’ behalf. Jackson chuckled ruefully at her bet. He was starting like her precisely for being able to do what he had pretended to be able to but had never quite managed: Give absolutely no fucks about anything. 

He had glanced over at the werecoyote in a good humor, so he only heard Scott’s growl immediately before the sound of Dunbar getting tossed ass over tea kettle. He couldn’t quite tell if a bone had broken, but he ran over there with the rest of the team.

Guilt was pouring off the alpha already. Jackson sighed inwardly. That was exactly what Scott didn’t need.

******** ******

**  
**  
****  


********

Stiles stood, feet part and arms across his chest, in front of his desk and adopted his most authoritative tone. “I’m reminding everyone of the ground rules for tonight. This is my room, and we’re here to study.”

“You know I wouldn’t mind if you two made out for a bit so I don’t have to do this right now,” Malia answered crossly from where she was frowning at the algebra in front of her.

Jackson smirked and dropped his backpack next to the bed. “I’m up for it if he’s up for it.”

“Ground rules! I just told you the ground rules!” Stiles sputtered about the room as Malia dug out her math books and Jackson got his economics notes out. It was entertaining to see Stiles red-faced and tongue-tied. “No! No making out. Studying. Lots and lots of studying.”

Malia frowned and looked up at Stiles’ reddened face. “You’ve not kissed him yet?” She turned to Jackson. “He’s not kissed you yet?”

“No. Not even a peck.” Jackson put a mocking hand on his mouth. “I wonder, is he that bad at it?”

“He’s the only person I’ve kissed on the mouth, so I don’t really know if he’s good or not. I didn’t mind it.” 

“Hmmmm. That’s true. He may be terrible. He may be a complete fish.” Jackson mimicked a gold fish with his mouth. “It’s a little worrisome.”

Stiles was flailing like he’d lost all motor control. “Would you two stop talking about me kissing either one of you! I’m not going to kiss either one of you. Ever again! Ever!”

Malia and Jackson looked at him with wide eyes. 

“I mean … I don’t mean that! I mean, we can talk about me kissing either one of you after we … finish our damn studying.” Stiles looked between them as if hoping this conversation would go away. 

“I’m writing an essay first, so I’ve got the desk,” Jackson explained and sat down at the computer without waiting for an answer.

“Stiles, come here and help me with my math.”

“Okay, but I’ll be right back. First, I’m going to get drinks for all of us,” Stiles announced. “What do you want?” 

After Stiles had gotten their preferences and disappeared downstairs, Jackson chuckled. “He’s so easy to rile up.”

“Yeah. He’s fun that way.”

Jackson turned in the chair to study Malia. “Still not bothered?”

“Oh, I’m bothered. This doesn’t make any sense.” She looked like she was going to throw the book across the room.

“No, I meant by Stiles and me.”

Malia gratefully turned away from the dreaded math. “Do you want me to be bothered? ‘Cause I told you I wasn’t bothered and you seem not to believe it.”

“Most girls would be bothered.”

“Most girls didn’t sleep in a cave for nearly a decade.” Malia leafs through her book. “Just so you know, we haven’t had sex since you went on your date.”

“I didn’t ask. I’m not jealous.”

“I didn’t think you were jealous.” Malia picked at her teeth with a nail. “I wanted to let you know that I think he’s kinda into you.”

Jackson hummed. 

“Anyway, I’m not jealous because, while I was happy with the sex stuff, that’s not why I like him so much.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. 

“He wants me to be a real person, since he and Scott brought me back. He could have just handed me back to my dad and said that I wasn’t his problem, but he didn’t. Scott helps me learn to control the shift, and Stiles helps me fit in. It’s nice. Of course, sometimes he goes too far.”

“Well,” Jackson chuckled. “That’s Stiles.”

“What’s Stiles?” Stiles called out from the hallway, bringing in the drinks. 

“A good-looking pain in the ass.” 

They settled down after that, but Jackson didn’t miss the mystified smile on Stiles’ face. He wasn’t used to be being pursued; Jackson was more than happy to give him a first taste. 

Jackson only paid the barest necessary attention to his homework on the computer screen. He kept an eye and an ear on the couple on the bed. He couldn’t deny that they were pretty cute together. Malia was comfortable with Stiles’ guidance, and Stiles was so focused on helping Malia develop, he let all his defense drop. For a moment — for the shortest moment — he thought that maybe he shouldn’t be dating Stiles. Maybe he was getting in the way of something real. But as he soon as he thought that, two other thoughts appeared to dispel the notion.

The first was that if Malia had been helping Stiles recover, Scott wouldn’t have made Jackson’s admission to the pack conditional on him helping Stiles. Jackson could see what the alpha meant. As much as Stiles could relax around Malia, she wasn’t in a position to help him face the aftermath of what had happened to him. She helped him forget, but she couldn’t be around all the time, and forgetting as the same as dealing.

The second was that he didn’t want to. It might not have been his idea originally, but he enjoyed his time with Stiles, especially considering what their relationship had been like before all this began. To Jackson, it felt like he was accomplishing something. He remembered thinking in the past that the boy was an obnoxious, nerdy clinger who was only capable of being friends with someone like McCall. And now — now he knew better, and that was because _Jackson_ was different. Jackson liked being different than who he had been.

And there was no possibility of a three-way relationship, which was pretty strange to the new Jackson. He’d been in plenty of sexual situations with multiple partners in London, and Malia was an extraordinarily attractive girl, but there was something in her smell that killed anything sexual for him. Maybe it was a wolf and coyote thing? 

Malia had just finished explaining her color-coded marker studying system, which seemed to please Stiles so much that he grinned. He glanced over at Jackson, who smiled back at him. 

“So tell me, what’s the secret? Why is math so easy for you guys, and so difficult for me?”

“Well, usually we use notes. Lydia’s notes.”

“Then people need to give me notes on Lydia’s notes, because I don’t understand any of this.”

Jackson remembered when he used Lydia’s notes. He loved them, even though he wasn’t as behind as Malia was. Part of Lydia’s strength was her ability to rephrase learning in different ways for different people. 

“Are you sure these are Lydia’s notes?” After Malia nodded, Stiles frowned. “Because it’s not math.”

Stiles got up and went for his phone. He had this look on his face that meant nothing good. Malia sat up behind him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

As the phone rang, Stiles handed Malia’s notebook to him. It was filled with letters and symbols that didn’t make any sense, worked in between actual math notes. It would have seemed like doodling except for the precise ordering of the letters. “What is this?”

“Bah, it went to voice mail.” Stiles held the phone away from his ear. “You were told about all the … shenanigans during last semester, right?”

“Yes. I was given a basic run down.”

“So you know about Lydia’s experience with automatic writing, then.”

“Uhm. Maybe not that detail …”

Malia stood up. “I don’t know about it either. What’s automatic writing?”

“You guys know that Lydia, as a banshee, hears stuff that we can’t, right.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Malia shook her head. “People getting croaked.”

“Right.” Stiles was in full explanation mode. “Well, a lot of the time, she hears this stuff without actually being aware that she hears it.”

Jackson nodded, slowly. “Like when I smell something enough to disturb me but not enough to tell what it is.”

“Yeah. So, sometimes her body does things without her conscious mind knowing that she’s doing it, like driving to places when she wanted to go somewhere else, or drawing pictures when she’s not aware of the meaning. For weeks, she kept drawing a tree. Turns out it wasn’t just a tree, but the Nemeton where an evil druid was planning to sacrifice our parents.”

“I heard about that! Weird. So you’re saying that Lydia’s math notes are going to lead us to a dead body?”

“Well, hopefully we’ll get there before that happens, but we need to talk to her. Right now.” 

Jackson had his phone out and texted Lydia. No response. “That’s odd.”

Malia grimaced. “Not if she’s doing that weird sleepwalking thing.”

“It’s called a fugue state. Let’s go over to her house. You don’t mind me driving, Jackson?”

They piled into his Jeep and sped off into the night to Lydia’s house.

******** ******

**  
******  


********

Jackson sat behind the seat of his car while Malia disappeared into Lydia’s house. They’d decided that she’d go check to see if Lydia was home, because Stiles was absolutely convinced that Mrs. Martin didn’t like him, and Jackson was absolutely convinced that Mrs. Martin did like him. The point was to find Lydia and tell her about her strange writing in the math notes.

Stiles had been watching as well but as the door closed behind her, there was a sharp spike in anxiety. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles looked at him, trying to appear innocent. “Oh, nothing’s wrong with me.”

Jackson tilted his head to the side and hit him with his best try-again face.

“You werewolves need to stop smelling me.”

His face did not change.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Jackson clicked his tongue. “I see.”

“No! No, no, it’s not like that. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just … that I don’t want to tell you.” Stiles frowned at his own contradiction. “It’s none of your business … oh, shit, this is all coming out wrong.”

Jackson let his fingers tap on the steering wheel.

“Okay, trying again. There’s something going on that isn’t pleasant for me, but it would be even more unpleasant for you. Since what is going on is not something you did nor is it anything for which you need to take responsibility, there’s no reason for me to make things unpleasant for you. You wouldn’t even know about it except for your freaky super senses. So, let it be.”

“Oh. Hmmmm. You know we’re not like normal couples, right, Stiles?” 

“I know that.” 

“Our lives aren’t like normal teenagers.”

“I know that, too.”

“Then why would you think I wouldn’t want to be part of anything and everything that’s going on with you. Thinking back on everything we’ve been through, do you think I didn’t understand what I was getting involved in when I asked you out? We, and by that I mean the pack, are involved in some pretty serious shit, unless you missed it. If you want to hide things from me because they’re dangerous or traumatizing, that’s going to make whatever the thing between you and me becomes difficult.”

Stiles frowned and shifted uncomfortably. Jackson counted the seconds silently before Stiles launched his counter-attack. When Stiles was cornered, anyone who knew anything about him understood, he came out swinging.

“Is this about you trying to fix me?”

Jackson sighed. “You know what …” With great deliberation, Jackson put forth his most aggrieved, bitchy tone.

“No! Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you, if you want me to.”

“I do, Stiles. It must be a side effect of all the shit I’ve been through, but for some unbelievable reason, I want you to tell me things.” Jackson smoothed it over with a joke.

“Okay, Scott and I know something about Malia, and we haven’t told her yet. We keep discussing when and how to tell her, but what we’re really doing is putting it off.”

“Should she know about it?”

“She absolutely should, but … it’s complicated.” Stiles was looking at Jackson out of the corner of his eye.

“If you stall long enough, she’ll come back before you can tell me. Is that your plan?” 

“We know that Malia is adopted.” It came out in a rush.

Jackson felt a sliver of fear work down his spine, but it was quickly drowned out with a sense of fond irritation. Of course, Stiles would be worried about bringing up adoption issues with him. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve worked on that particular trauma very hard with my therapist. So Malia doesn’t know she was adopted?”

“No, she doesn’t. I guess that the accident happened before her parents told her. It’s worse than that, though.” Stiles took a deep breath. “We know who her biological father is.”

“And?”

“Peter Hale.”

Jackson let out a long breath. So that was it. He wasn’t attracted to Malia because he could smell that they were siblings. Or maybe half siblings. He chided himself that his first though was so vulgar. His first reaction should have been that he had a sister. Yeah. He had a sister.

Stiles took his silence for something completely different than what it was. “She deserves … she deserves to know! If someone hid something like that from me, I’d be so mad, but … Jackson, you didn’t spend much time around him …”

“There was that time he chased me around the high school, and then tried to get Scott to kill me. And then the time he sent Derek to kill me. I know how dangerous he is. I know more than that.”

“That was when he was at his least dangerous, Jackson, believe me. He’s at his most dangerous when he’s being …” Stiles made finger quotes. “ _Helpful._ ”

“So I’ve been told. He’s got the quite the reputation in London.” Jackson said it airily. He had been doing so well at ignoring Peter and here the man was again. He still wasn’t going to confront him. His father was David Whittemore.

“I don’t want to tell her,” Stiles said with angry exasperation, but Jackson could hear the fear behind it. “She’s learning so quickly, and I don’t want her to get his claws into her until she becomes her own person.”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah, he bargained the knowledge out of Lydia, but he hasn’t done anything.”

Jackson frowned. “Did you think …”

Malia came out of the house with a smile on her face and ran up to the car. “Lydia’s okay. She’s on her way home, finally.”

“What happened?” Stiles turned, the previous conversation forgotten.

“She showed up at the Walcott’s house. They were the axe-murdered family. Turns out the Walcotts weren’t completely innocent. They had a basement full of corpses.” 

Jackson raised his eyebrows, while Stiles flailed. 

“Do we have to go get her?”

“She’s been stuck with the deputy, but she called Scott and told him about the last surviving family member. He’s already at the hospital. She’ll be home in five minutes. She wants you to come in and wait for her.”

Jackson and Stiles got out of the car. It seemed like everything was well under control. Even after Stiles got a mysterious call from Scott and drove off.


	11. The Benefactor (Part 1: Your Plans Suck Too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson gets to explore the intricacies of pack and family dynamics in the wake of Liam's induction into lycanthropy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows dialogue directly from Episode 4x04 "The Benefactor." I do not own Teen Wolf; this homage is for enjoyment purposes only.

If he had needed any proof that his feelings towards Stiles were growing stronger, the surge of protective anger that roared like a lightning flash through Jackson’s veins at his first sight of Stiles today would have convinced him. Jackson was sure it was partially instinct. He was sure it was partially possessiveness. But he was also sure there was genuine emotion. 

“Who did that?” He demanded of Stiles right outside fourth period the next day.

Stiles gave him a what-the-hell glance. “Who did what?”

Jackson snagged him by the jaw where a bruise was huge and glowering. “That.” 

“Oh. Oh!’ Stiles pulled his jaw out of Jackson’s grip. “Don’t freak, and I’ll tell you.”

They should have been on their way to class, but Stiles took him into the boy’s locker room for some privacy.

“We really need a better place to meet.”

Stiles laughed at him. “Absolutely. Which is why we’re meeting out by the school busses after this period. Emergency Pack Meeting.”

Jackson took Stiles firmly by the shoulders and sat him down on a bench. He used his strength — not enough that Stiles couldn’t have shrugged out of the grip if he really wanted to and definitely not enough to hurt him but enough to get his point across. Jackson wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“Pushy.” Stiles said it playfully, without real heat, but it didn’t fool Jackson.

“Stop stalling.”

Stiles sighed. “Liam punched me.” 

There was another surge of protective anger, which indicated there might be a problem. Jackson thought about his next words carefully. Stiles wouldn’t like some silly promise of protection. In fact, he’d resent the implication that he was a damsel that needed protecting. But Jackson wanted it to be made clear that Stiles getting hurt like this was unacceptable. “And you let him?”

The question succeeded in surprising Stiles, so he answered honestly. “Well, he sort of fooled me.” 

“That little freshman fooled you.”

“Don’t be so judgy now, Jackson. You don’t know the whole story.”

“No, I don’t, but you seem to make me want to guess …”

“Scott bit him. He’s a werewolf now.”

Jackson blinked twice. “Wow.” 

“It was an accident! You know we took him to the hospital to get his leg looked at, right? While he was there, Lydia found out that the survivor of the family murdered by the family-murdering axe murderer — and you know I’m going to ride all of you into the ground because all of this could have been prevented if we had just investigated like I thought we should! — was a wendigo.”

“Wendigoes.” The only thing that Jackson knew about them was the movie _Ravenous_ , so in reality, he knew nothing.

“Actually, the plural of _wendigo_ is _wendigoag_. It’s from Ojibwe.” Stiles went on. “According to Derek, they are cannibals, but they can shape shift, too. At first I thought they were probably brought here by the Nemeton, but then I did a little digging — as much as I could, given the time constraints — and they’ve been here for years.”

“What has that to do with Scott biting Liam?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, it seems wendigoag can’t eat anything but human meat. Sucks to be them. So, this Sean guy was starving and ate one of my dad’s deputies and then he tried to eat Melissa when she caught him.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah. Lydia had given Scott a heads up, and he reached them before anything bad could happen. But then Sean grabbed Liam, took him up to the roof and threw him over the side of the building. Scott had to bite Liam to keep him from falling.”

Jackson’s face belabored his disbelief.

“I don’t think Scott was lying … “

“It doesn’t matter. So where’s the wendigo?” 

“Dead. Killed by someone who was probably the person who killed the rest of his family. He had no mouth.”

“Freaky.” Jackson tapped Stiles on the chin. “Still not telling me how you got punched.”

Stiles continued, revealing a highly detailed account of how Scott had completely lost his damn mind. Of course, Scott was totally unprepared to bite someone. Of course, he panicked. Of course, the alpha was riddled by guilt that he had bit someone without permission. Jackson sighed; the headway he had made with getting Scott to relax was probably all undone. Stiles only had to be steered back to the story once or twice. 

“On the bright side, while I’m sure Scott would have wanted it to happen later, at least it happened and it had to happen.”

“Shit, we’re late for class. What do you mean it had to happen?”

The werewolf raised one eyebrow. “We’re both doing well enough to skip a class. Though, maybe not, since you’re telling me you haven’t researched anything about werewolf pack dynamics? You never got curious about how it was supposed to work and spent hours on the Internet or in one of the Bestiaries reading about it? I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I have. Supposedly, an alpha needs at least three betas to be stable. But Scott’s different.”

“Is he?” Stiles faith in Scott could actually be intimidating sometimes. It could also be frightening. Stiles’ eyes were actually blazing in defiance as if Jackson was attacking the alpha.

“Everyone told him that he had to join a pack or he’d go omega and lose control or be killed. He didn’t join a pack and he didn’t lose control. Everyone told him that the only way to become an alpha was to kill an alpha. He didn’t, and here he is an alpha.”

Jackson finished for him. “Everyone told him that there was no way to save someone possessed by the nogitsune, but he did, didn’t he?”

Stiles shrugged as if that didn’t matter, when a toddler could tell that it mattered a great deal. 

“One of the things I’ve learned in London is that most of the supernatural world doesn’t live in constant crisis. This place is not normal. Now I know that Scott has an incredible amount of willpower. He could probably survive without three betas to help keep him stable in this hellhole. But you know, a human being can also survive being locked in a room by himself with nothing but water and Ding Dongs. Doesn’t make it healthy.”

“Ding Dongs meaning snack cakes, or … Ding Dongs meaning ding dongs?”

Jackson replied sharply. “Either. Both.”

“Because I’d like to see how long a man could …”

“Stiles.” Jackson’s tone was firm. He wasn’t going to allow evasions.”

“He had a pack. He has a pack.” The need in Stiles’ voice revealed the fear behind it — that Stiles wasn’t enough.

“He was an omega. You and Allison …” Stiles winced but Jackson pushed on. “You and Allison kept him stable, but that wasn’t going to last forever. His pack before I came back was a human, a banshee, a thunder kitsune, and a werecoyote. Again, it would probably keep him stable in the short run, but it wasn’t going to last forever, especially with what’s going to happen here. He’s a wolf; he needs wolves.”

“And suddenly you’re an expert.”

“I’m not … I’m not an expert. But I spent a lot of time with an alpha who is an expert and who was willing to teach me. I’m sure Derek’s told this to Scott, but very … gently.”

“Yeah. Derek didn’t start out with the best technique.”

“But the truth is the truth, Stiles. If Scott wants to be a good alpha, he needs at least three wolves in his pack. He has me … for now. He has Liam now.”

Stiles bit his thumb in anxiety. “If only Isaac didn’t leave …”

“But he did.”

“What about Derek?”

“Would Derek submit to Scott? Would Scott even want to ask?”

“Not yet. They’re not there yet.” Stiles nodded firmly. “But they will be.”

Jackson rolled his shoulders. “You should hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

“You didn’t want to join a pack either, if I recall.” Stiles smirked. “You were equally opposed to it.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to because of my problems. I still don’t really want to because of my problems. But I’m not as big an idiot as I was then. There are things that you can change, and things you can’t change. Werewolves need a pack — a real pack.”

Stiles nodded sharply.

Jackson suddenly felt guilty. He had just told Stiles that what he gave to Scott wasn’t enough. These two needed someone to make them see that. It might have to be him.

******** ******

**  
******  


********

Jackson had just rounded the back of the school bus to get to the emergency pack meeting when he head Malia’s complaint.

“I’m not sharing my basement.”

Any other time, he would have chuckled, but even in broad daylight that night’s full moon was already beginning to make itself felt. In an unfortunate attack of maturity, he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes if it could lead to conflict. In Malia’s case, he was sure that the moon was manifesting in her being territorial. Lydia’s response was sharp and totally to be expected.

“Actually, it’s my basement, and my mother noticed how you tore it up last time.”

What surprised Jackson was exactly how much less heat ha head expected that line to have. The Old Lydia would have made it clear who was in control of the situation. This Lydia held just as much concern for Malia as a friend in her voice. Jackson had to admit that maybe Lydia really meant it when she said she was pack.

“Alright, she’s still learning.”

“It just means you’re not as good a teacher as you thought you were, Stiles.” Jackson announced his presence. “So, you’re letting the lake house be the pack’s full moon destination spot? That’s risky, Lyds.”

There was a momentary flicker of resentment across both Lydia’s and Stiles’ faces at the nickname. Whatever. Until they had the nerve to tell him to his face not to use it, he wasn’t going to try to guess what it took to keep him happy.

Jackson clenched his jaw. He guessed it wasn’t only Malia feeling the effects of the moon.

“The closest neighbor is a half-mile away, and my mother doesn’t really ask about what I do there. It’s perfect. I get to listen to music or watch television in comfort while my friends run around clawing up trees.”

“Or get tied up in the basement,” Kira added helpfully. 

Stiles grimaced and put a protective hand on Malia’s shoulder. “She’s doing much better.”

Malia crossed her arms in a huff. “No, I’m not.” 

Scott tried to change the subject. “Are you going to need anything for tonight?”

Jackson tried to effect an air of nonchalance. “No. You’re going to be there, right?”

Stiles and Lydia caught on to the speed of how Jackson had answered the alpha. Of course, Stiles and Lydia would catch it. Jackson needed Scott to be present for his full moon to go well. Derek had taught him to anchor himself, and Jackson had chosen an anchor that was pretty unique to him: accomplishment. He focused not on his failures at but all the things at which he had succeeded, and that gave him control. But accomplishment was always accompanied by the need for approval. He had at first sought Derek’s approval and then Alexandrina’s approval, so it only made sense that this time he would need to seek Scott’s approval. Jackson would need to be close to death before he would admit that out loud.

Scot, thankfully and perhaps a little expectedly, didn’t catch onto the hidden meaning of his answer. The alpha was too busy worrying about Liam, which if Jackson had to be honest, was more than understandable. “We’re going to use the boat house. It’s got support beams. We’ll chain him up there.”

Jackson had been in the boathouse. It was a good plan.

“But how do we get him out to the lake house if he doesn’t trust us?” Overconfidence would never be Kira’s flaw.

“I say if it keeps him from murdering someone we chloroform the little bastard and throw him in the lake.”

“I’m in!” Malia added her approval to Stiles.

Jackson rolled his eyes. While Stiles suggestion was mostly sarcasm, you’d have to be deaf to hear the unfocused resentment in it. After all, Liam _had_ punched him. 

“We’re not kidnapping or killing him.”

Lydia then intervened to convince Kira that she could seduce the poor freshman out to the lake house. It was also a good plan, but Kira looked like someone was asking her to assassinate the president. Could it be possible that the kitsune didn’t know how attractive she was? Scott had to reassure her several times that not only was she hot enough to lure Liam to the lake house but also she didn’t have to worry about him being upset with her. 

The plan was set, and Kira went off on her mission. They would meet at the lake house by 8:00 p.m. The rest of the pack split apart to get to class, leaving Jackson and his former girlfriend by the buses.

“Do you think she can do it?” Jackson asked Lydia after he was sure everyone else was out of earshot.

“Absolutely. She’s nervous, but she’ll pull through when it’s necessary. It’s in her nature.”

He thought back to what Alexandrina had warned him about kitsune. “You think so?”

“Stiles told me she felt exhilarated when she and Scott had broken into the police station. You told me that while she was nervous, she handled herself very well in Mexico when pretending to be just a normal tourist. She’ll do fine.”

Jackson watched her with open skepticism and suddenly she was annoyed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

“Uh, no, Lyds. Notice what?”

Lydia looked around once more to make sure they were alone. She grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him towards their next class. “Since I have to spell it out for you, I want you to make sure that you keep it quiet. This is a hypothesis on which I am gathering evidence. I’ll tell you, because I don’t think you’ll be angry or could really argue with me. Doctors have known for centuries that the body affects the mind and the mind affects the body. I suspect that when a person manifests as supernatural, it works the same way. There’s that old saying Derek knew-”

“The shape you take reflects the person that you are.”

“Yes, but I think it goes deeper than that. I think the whole process influences both ways. Similar to how a person’s psychological makeup influences their transformation, I think that transformation can alter that psychological makeup beyond the oh-God-I’m-a-monster panic.” 

“Okay. You’re saying that Kira’s better at tricking people than she thinks because she knows she is a trickster?”

“Yes and no.” Lydia nodded in that way when she’s willing to accept a simplification. “Better not in the sense of skilled but better in the sense of being more inclined to trickery. You’re better too.”

Jackson blinked. 

“When you were bitten, your mental profile …”

“My psychological problems.”

“Don’t contradict me when I’m trying to be kind. Your mental profile may have resulted in your manifestation as a kanima.” Her voice dropped lower to be sensitive. Neither of them wanted people to overhear this. “But on the other hand, the kanima became the catalyst for resolving the situation which created it.”

“Lydia, I’m sure you thought about it a lot but …” He trailed off. In a way, she was right. He wasn’t as paralyzed by the weight of expectations of people he had ever known. He knew who he was now. 

“See? Again, this is only a hypothesis. It’s not even close to a theory. But I have plenty of evidence that I have to work though: you, Kira, Scott, Stiles.”

“Stiles?”

“There’s a reason that the nogitsune chose to possess him. There’s a reason he says ‘fine’ whenever you ask him if he’s okay. There’s a reason he put me on a pedestal. There’s a reason he put Scott on a pedestal. There’s always been a part of him that was doubtful of his own nature. For better or worse, the nogitsune forced him to confront that issue.”

“But.” Jackson hesitated.

“But what?”

“There was no connection to the Nemeton and the nogitsune before Scott’s bite. How was the influence transmitted? It doesn’t make sense.”

“How did a sawed-off tree stump influence Scott to get a tattoo? How can I hear things that indicate that an event that hasn’t occurred yet is about to happen?” Lydia shook her head. “The best thing about science is that it’s not static. If you encounter something that the rules of science can’t explain, then you trash the rules and _start over_.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why not the others?”

Lydia thought for a moment. “Because as much as I like the pack, of them all only you can really understand what it felt like to be what you imagined was to be the best possible you and find out — no, there is so much more. It bothers me that I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I can do, of what I am. I’m sure it bothers all of them as well. I look at you and I feel happy, and I want you to be happy.”

“Uh. Me?”

“You did terrible things, and you got _better_. You give me hope, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re doing the same for Scott and Stiles.” 

“You think so?”

Lydia tossed her hair. “I know it.”

******** ******

********

********

After school, Jackson drove to Derek’s loft. He couldn’t get Lydia’s hypothesis out of his mind, but part of him thought she was on the wrong track. He could accept that the kanima had been a consequence of his failures, of his weakness. It made sense. He couldn’t accept that the whole kanima experience had, on some level, strengthened him. That meant it wasn’t a punishment for what he had been, but it was some sort of aid: a treatment for the lifelong disease of being Jackson Whittemore.

He was sure that this hypothesis was simply Lydia’s attempt to find meaning to her being a banshee. He understood that without any reservation. If Lydia could find a cause, then she could understand why, even if she couldn’t do anything about it. He had learned, too late, that Lydia loved science and she specifically loved mathematics. 1 + 1 = 2 comforted her. 

He could see the appeal.

Jackson hadn’t brought himself to the point of telling Lydia that he was a Hale. It was the flaw in her hypothesis. The supernatural wasn’t drawn to people because of some innate quality. The supernatural responded to the will of others. In this town that was one of two families: the Hales or the Argents. Jackson was agnostic. He didn’t know if there was some cosmic force determining what should happen, but he knew that when someone hurt someone else, there was a human being (or a reasonable facsimile) behind it.

He had texted Derek asking if he could come up. Derek had replied with one caveat. Peter was there. Jackson pulled open the loft door and the older werewolf was there.

What had he just been thinking about? Whenever someone hurt someone else, someone was behind it. “Peter.”

“I had heard that you were back, Jackson. Welcome home.” 

“Thanks.” Jackson tried to keep his voice neutral.

“I can only imagine how it must feel to be back here.” Peter observed. “Fitting in with the new power structure?” 

Jackson shrugged. “It’s been easy so far.”

“Of course, it has. Scott is relatively easy going, though I suspect that is mostly because he hasn’t got a clue to what he is doing. I hope it wasn’t too difficult to you, baring your neck to the child you used to spit on just last year.”

“I managed.” Jackson gritted his teeth. “I’ve must have grown as a person.”

“My condolences.” Peter shrugged eloquently. “I’d love to stay and make more small talk with emotionally stunted adolescents, but I have an appointment with my banker.” Without another word, he glided away, oblivious — or most likely not caring — what his words had done.

Jackson had expected to be disappointed with Peter. He had also expected to be a little hurt. What he hadn’t expected was for the impact of Peter’s disregard. Peter’s act of false camaraderie followed up by a sharp jab to the emotions didn’t feel authentic. The closest thing that Jackson could equate it to was a poorly written one-camera sitcom, where a character would show up and deliver their famous catch phrase, the audience would laugh because they were expected to laugh, and then the plot would continue.

Jackson was still standing in the same space when Derek appeared out of the loft’s kitchen. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” He shook himself. “What’s wrong with him?”

Derek’s reply was flippant, but his eyes betrayed his concern. “How much time do you have?”

“I don’t think it’s that important.”

“He’s your biological father. I won’t press you, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jackson hadn’t told Derek how he was his cousin. He raises both eyebrows.

“It’s obvious once you know what to look for. It’s in your scent.” Derek gestured for him to come further into the loft and he sniffed and frowned. “It also makes sense, age wise.” 

“Whenever I mention werewolves and ages, Stiles looks like he wants to hit me with a brick.”

“Stiles isn’t yet used to dealing with people whose physical age doesn’t necessarily match their appearance. We’re shapeshifters. Want a beer?”

Jackson nodded. “I’m sure you’re not going to make me drink Old Milwaukee.”

Derek laughed and shook his head. He brought out two Imperial Milk Stouts from the Deep River Brewing Company. Jackson hadn’t had them before. They were amazing.

Jackson enjoyed the few minutes of silence as they drank the beers. He could already tell that Derek was one of those people who didn’t have to be constantly entertained nor did they feel the need to constantly entertain you. You could just sit quietly and enjoy each other’s company. Jackson wondered if the ex-alpha had been able to act like this back when they first met and Jackson had had his head up his ass so far that he missed the potential. Or maybe Derek had been too far out on the end of his rope to relax like this.

“Why do you keep him around?”

Derek’s eyebrows raised up in silent question. 

“You know what he’s like. You know what he’s done. From what I’ve heard, from what I’ve acted like, he’s not the least bit sorry. I’m not talking about killing him. I’m talking about … letting him hang around.”

Derek’s left eyebrow lowered and then he nodded in understanding. “No. There’s very little left in Peter that’s good. If you’re looking for something like that in him, you’d be better off spending your time elsewhere.”

Jackson turned to the door. 

“There’s part of me that thinks it’s only a matter of time before he does something else terrible. I don’t know what he could have been if the fire hadn’t happened, but there’s no real hope for him to be a good person now. That potential is gone.”

“Then why …”

Derek chuckled. “There’s something that my mother taught me which I had forgotten. Watching Scott become the alpha he is now helped me to remember it. I can’t control what Peter does. I can’t control what anyone does. I can only control what I do. Peter, right now, has no one else but me. Cora won’t have anything to do with him. Malia doesn’t know about him, and he doesn’t know about you. So, until he does something unforgivable, he has me. But I don’t pretend he’s something that he’s not.”

Jackson looks back at Derek. “Do you think I should tell him?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s not my place to make that decision. It’s not anyone’s place. Have you told Scott? Anyone?”

“No. I’m playing it by ear. Should I tell Scott? After all … he’s my alpha.”

“If it were someone else, I would advise you to do so, because it would look suspicious if it came out another way. But not with Scott.” Derek shrugged. 

“It’s liable to get him killed.”

“Maybe.” Derek looked a little sad. 

“Are you pack?” 

“Yes. No.” The ex-alpha contradicted himself. “Not … yet? I need to work things through. Scott needs to be able to rely on me without the added complication of the pack bond. While werewolves do need a pack, there’s no rush for me. I’m there if he needs me, and he’s obviously there if I need him.”

“So, someday.”

Derek nodded his head. “Someday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, any concrete criticism is appreciated!


	12. The Benefactor (Part 2: Then Let's Be Smarter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson does his part to lure Liam out to the lake house. He find himself revisiting old times by throwing a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows some dialogue directly from the episode _The Benefactor_.

The 2009 Porsche Carrera-S took the corners on the road to the lake house like he was on a race track rather than driving down a country road during the twilight hours. Jackson had so missed this car. He had missed the feel of power beneath his hand. More specifically, he had missed the feel of power beneath his hand that was under control.

For him, power had all too frequently meant being out of control. Or, worse still, being under the control of another. This feeling was how life should be.

He had turned off the interstate and started into the Preserve proper when his phone rang. A glance at the dashboard computer indicated it was Danny. As it always had recently, Danny brought a smile to his face.

“Hello. What’s up?”

Danny’s voice sounded amused over the phone. “I managed to round up all the gossip on that kid you wanted me to check out. Got time to hear it?”

“Sure. You’ve got pretty good timing, actually. I’m on my way to some place where I’ll need it.”

“And that place is?”

Jackson glanced at the phone, as if it could give him insight into Danny’s state. “You probably wouldn’t want to know.”

“Okay.” Danny’s voice held a note of reluctance and regret. It was subtle, but Jackson had known his best friend ever since they were in Cub Scouts together. That was where they met: the Beacon Hills Pack 237. The scout master had put them together to learn about birds, but in the end, while they didn’t learn very much about birds, they found something a lot more precious and exciting.

“So what do you have for me?”

“Dunbar has a huge temper. Most people I talked to told me that he averaged about two to three serious fights a year. I’m not talking pushing matches; I’m talking fists and blood. He’d been suspended at least once a semester, but he wasn’t expelled until he totally destroyed his coach’s car with a crowbar and some spray paint.”

Jackson whistled.

“Funnily enough, other than his urge to beat the shit out of people periodically, he’s supposedly a pretty nice guy. No one could ever figure out what set him off, but most of the time he was just another kid. I’m thinking he just might not handle aggression very well.”

“Oh, boy.”

“That sounds ominous. What happened?”

“Scott bit him.”

“ _Bit him_ , bit him? Why the fuck would he do that?”

“Do you really want to hear the story? Or should I summarize?”

His friend paused on the other end of the line. Jackson regretted asking the question in that way; if he had taken the time to think about it, he could have made it sound less like sort of accusation. He really did want Danny to be able to choose how much he was involved with the supernatural aspect of Jackson’s life. After maybe thirty seconds of silence, Jackson decided to answer his own question and let Danny off the hook.

“Scott got himself put in a position where it was either bite Liam or let Liam die.”

Danny’s snort was commentary enough. “Well, that was stupid.”

Jackson grunted. It wasn’t important enough to bust Danny’s balls over. 

However, he had failed to remember that while he was able to sense Danny’s underlying emotions, Danny was also able to sense his after all the time. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You were upset because I said that.”

“You weren’t there, Danny.”

“Neither were you.”

“That’s not what I meant! Look, I know how easy it is to play armchair quarterback. I’ve done it myself; I’m not a fan of how Scott handled it. But you as well as I know the difference between the strategy session in the locker room and being on the field when the opposing team is trying to make you eat sod.”

Jackson sucked in air at how aggressive that sounded. Yeah, there was going to be a fight.

“This isn’t the quarter finals, Jackson. The next time Dunbar decides to freak out and go after someone, he’s going to have to claws and superhuman strength. This puts more than one person’s life on the line. If McCall is going to make such colossal fuck-ups, then maybe he shouldn’t be calling the plays.”

“It’s the price, Danny.”

“The price of what?”

“Getting involved.” Jackson stifled a sigh. “From the outside, with the benefits of hindsight, the alternatives always look so clear. You think it’s like there’s a simple choice — make a mistake or don’t make a mistake. But that’s not the choice when you’re someone like Scott. The real choice usually ends up between making a mistake and not getting involved.”

“Geez, Jackson, more hero worship …”

Jackson gripped the steering wheel hard. “That’s not what this is.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Look. Until you actually get teeth and claws and a supernaturally bad attitude of your own, I’d prefer it if you’d not act like you know what you’re talking about. McCall had, by my count, three separate instances where he could have walked away and let someone else deal with Walcott. He didn’t. I would have. I would have walked away and not lost a moment’s sleep over it.”

“But he didn’t and now Dunbar is a werewolf.”

“And? Unless you’ve hidden it from me, you’ve never been in a fight for your life. Again, unless you’ve hidden it from me, you’ve never stood up to an angry alpha who could either tear you apart or give you what you want depending on what they feel like at that moment. You’ve never had a professional hunter grab you by the neck, making you realize that he thinks you’re his prey. It’s harder than most people think to make the optimal decision in those instances.”

“So we should shut up when he makes a mistake?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Jackson rubbed at his face with one hand in frustration. “I guess I’m just tired of people with no stake in the situation sitting back and judging people when they don’t have a single idea what it’s like. Mistake or not, I’m pretty sure that the freshman is glad Scott made that decision. And I’ll complain about the consequences, but there’s a line I’m not going to cross, because if Scott is stupid for biting Dunbar, then I should be riding the short bus. I’ve made mistakes that make his mistakes look like wearing a tie that doesn’t match his jacket!”

Danny quickly leapt to his defense. “Your mistakes were different.”

“Yes, they were very different. I made decisions based on what I thought was best for me, and they were disasters. I know they were terrible, but even so, I’m getting tired of people throwing them up in my face.”

Neither of them talked for a few minutes. 

“Do you resent me, Jackson?” There was pain in Danny’s voice.

“Resent you?”

“For not wanting to get involved.”

“You’re involved, you’re just not that involved.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“This seems a pretty big part of your life now, and I’ve made the decision not to be a part of that world.”

Jackson shifted gears as he thought about the answer. “I don’t have any room to talk. I went to London.”

“You went to London to make your parents happy and to get a grip. As you say, that’s not the same thing. I transferred schools and broke up with my boyfriend with a cool head …”

“You made a strategic decision. I don’t hold it against you.”

“I think you do.”

The car sped around a bend in the road and he could clearly see the Martin lake house. “Well, I think that’s a guilty conscience talking that doesn’t need to feel guilty.”

Danny sighed audibly.

“I’ve reach Lydia’s. We’re going to have to cut this conversation short, but it’s not over. Right?”

“Right.”

“Goodbye, Danny.”

******** ******

********

********

It didn’t feel good to Jackson at all for Danny to be right about the anger-management problems of Liam Dunbar. When Stiles showed the pack the remains of that car, Jackson hadn’t said anything, but he watched a tiny bit more weight settle on Scott’s shoulders. There was nothing to be done for it; it came with the eyes. At least, Scott wasn’t going to let Liam face what was coming by himself, and that was a good thing.

Still, Jackson didn’t cooperate with Scott’s plan without voicing a little bit of protest. The whole intervention thing struck him as humiliating. The freshman should have noticed by now that things were becoming very different for him.

“I was pretty stubborn until my first full moon,” Scott admitted. “I didn’t actually believe that I was a werewolf until I watched the claws grow out of my fingers.” 

“Hardly the same situation. You were bit by a dark shape in the middle of the night in the middle of the woods.” Jackson shrugged as he entered the lake house. “You’ve tried explaining to him several times what the bite means, while he literally saw you shifted. There’s stubborn and then there’s pathological denial.”

“I _kidnapped_ him.”

“I have to agree with Jackson, Scott. If Peter had acted as concerned about you as you have been about Liam … well, you might be his beta still.” Lydia joked.

Scott crossed his arms sourly. “No.”

“And both of you forget that I was there, giving the Scott-Dog all the information he needed!” Stiles hit Scott in the shoulder as he pulled the door closed.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you tried to pass yourself of as a werewolf expert.”

“Jackson, I’ll have you know that I am always, mostly, nearly sometimes right.”

There was a brief moment of genuine laughter. It was needed.

“Hey, look.” Scott reached out and took Jackson by the shoulder. The touch soothed Jackson more than he was comfortable with, but it was the full moon, and even those werewolves with good control were anxious. “I know you don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Oh, it’s not that. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not. I just don’t want to do it.”

Scott didn’t get angry, but he gave him a grudging smile. “I appreciate that you don’t want to do it, and you’re going to help anyway. No matter how stubborn Liam is, he’s going to need our help. I think if he sees he’s not alone, it _will_ help.”

“As long as you don’t …” Jackson cut himself off.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t mention … _it_.” 

It took Scott a few moments to figure it out. Jackson wasn’t sure if he should be scornful or grateful that Scott didn’t constantly associate him with the kanima. 

“I would never do that. He’ll need to know about it eventually, but that will be when _you’re_ ready.” Scott put his hand on his shoulder once again. Jackson couldn’t seem to keep him from doing it. “You have nothing to worry about and nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jackson shrugged. “I’m not worried.” This was a lie. “It’ll just be easier if it’s not mentioned.” 

Scott let the lie slip past.

Kira eventually arrived with Liam with all her limbs intact. No matter how awkwardly she had managed it — “Yay, Party!” — she had successfully delivered the new werewolf to his intervention without any serious incidents. The freshman radiated hostility, but Jackson, with the confidence of someone who was a master of that particular tactic and who had the benefit of chemo signals, knew that this particular form of hostility was being used as a shield. 

Scott kept trying to reach Liam on a conscious, reasonable level. “And we’re the only ones who can help.”

Jackson could have warned the alpha that this wasn’t going to help. Between fear and the full moon, Liam wasn’t going to respond to anything less than violence or his alpha’s roar. 

“How can you help?” Liam wasn’t snarling yet, but he was damn close.

“I’m a werewolf, and I’m the one who bit you. Since you’ve healed, that makes you a werewolf, too.” Scott began, visibly forcing himself to remain upbeat. “There are things that you should know, that you need to know.”

“I’m a werewolf. Is everyone here a werewolf like you?”

“I am,” Jackson smirked. “I’m just better looking than he is.”

Futile words were spent trying to clue the kid in to what was going on and what he needed, but Jackson could see it sliding off the new werewolf’s denial and anger. While Scott wasn’t willing to give up, Jackson knew that the punching was going to begin any minute.

Still in anger, Liam began ticking off the people. Pointing at them and naming their races as if this entire attempt was a practical joke at his expense. Finally he got to Stiles. “What are you?”

Stiles suddenly froze in place. “Uh, for a little while, I was possessed by an evil spirit. It was very evil.”

“And what are you now?” 

Stiles paused and looked at everybody, confusion and hope warring on his face. Maybe he was thinking about the skills he had retained. Maybe he was thinking about being sarcastic to deflect. Maybe he was thinking about what Jackson had tried to tell him. 

“Better.” Jackson answered for him. Stiles couldn’t answer for himself right now, so he would do it. “He’s better.”

Stiles shot him a genuine smile. Jackson returned it until he remembered he was surrounded by people whose opinion he was pretending didn’t matter and rolled his eyes. 

The frustration and futility of trying to reach Liam was manifesting itself more and more clearly. Jackson remembered the feel of the full moon pouring in through the top of your head. Liam must feel like he was about to burn through his own skin. “I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of psychotic nutjobs. You guys are out of your freaking minds. I don’t know how you did that eye thing, and I don’t care. I’m walking out that door right now, and if any of you try to stop me, I swear to God I’m gonna …”

And then the kid was one the floor, his claws scrabbling at the hardwood, shouting at the noise that neither Scott nor Jackson had heard. As they had both learned to do, they had reflexively restrained their hearing so they could concentrate on helping Liam, allowing a veritable fucking convoy of freshmen and sophomores to approach the lake house undetected. Chaos ensues, heightened when Malia’s tenuous control slips. Stiles hurries her down to the basement, while Scott and Jackson wrangle Liam out the back door and towards the boat house on the edge of the lake.

Kira trailed behind them as the young werewolf struggled. Scott was trying to calm the werewolf down to no avail.

Halfway down the trail, Jackson had to cling to Liam to avoid being thrown away like a rag doll. “How the hell can he be this strong?”

Scott, who was far stronger than Jackson, was having trouble clinging on as well. Then again, Scott was concentrating on not hurting the boy. “I don’t know! I wasn’t this strong.”

“Maybe it’s because it his first full moon?” Kira asked. It must be nice to be a shifter and not have to worry about losing control.

Jackson managed to pin one of Liam’s arms to his back. “It doesn’t … Uhf! … It doesn’t work like that. Scott, for the love of God, he’s not going to break!”

“I’m not going to hurt him!” 

Jackson snarled. “He’s going to hurt _us_ unless you can get him under control!”

The finally get him to the lake house, using their entire strength. Liam is furious and out of control, and Scott is tentative and far too gentle. It finally takes Kira whacking the new werewolf upside the head with a paddle before they can get him chained.

“What the fuck is your problem, McCall?” Jackson snaps; Kira is shocked at his words but she’s cope. He’s got to deal with the full moon as well.

“We got him under control.” Scott states, mulishly.

“You could have roared him into submission at any time. If he had broken free —”

“No!”

Jackson gritted his jaw, irritated, until he realized what was going on. “Alphas use it to pacify their new betas all the time. It doesn’t make you Peter.”

“No, biting him against his will makes me Peter!” Scott snapped back, eyes blazing. It wasn’t just Jackson who had to deal with the full moon.

They stared at each other and, as usual, Scott was the first one to bring himself back to normal. “Look, Jackson … Kira and I can handle Liam now. Why don’t you go see if Lydia needs help? If … if you feel you’re under control enough.”

Jackson shook his head. “I’m fine. But Scott, you’re nothing —”

“Okay!” Scott tried to silence him with one of his smiles, but it never reached his eyes. “We’ll be fine. You’re probably going to be in more danger anyway. Lydia will probably murder you.”

Jackson went from Scott’s pleading eyes to Kira’s confused ones to the unconscious Liam. “Yeah. She probably will.” He made his way back to the house.

******** ******

********

********

Something that Alexandrina had pointed out to Jackson, which bitten werewolves tended to forget, was that humans have just as many instincts as wolves do. Humans instinctually craved safety and freedom. They also instinctually craved not being alone. While some humans were introverted enough to only seldom desire social contact with other humans, most sought out social gatherings from time to time. One of the reasons for the Club’s popularity was exactly because it was a safe space for part-human people to express that human need.

For most high schoolers, that instinct often was satisfied with an occasional party.

Jackson knew how to party. During his first two years of high school, he had become quite good at it. If you had asked him, he would have admitted that he enjoyed being with his friends, but he also secretly enjoyed being the center of attention. There was always rush when you entered a room full of people and they immediately looked at you. And while he was a lacrosse star, it took more than that. It took knowing when to act as if someone were your best friend and knowing when to act like the person wasn’t fit to scrape the shit off of your shoe. He had learned it with Lydia.

Now, trapped in the sea of Liam-aged high school students, the knowledge came flooding back to him, but he found it didn’t excite him as he once did. On the positive side, he didn’t feel the need to crush some poor nerd’s social aspirations to remind everyone who the apex predator here was. He was the apex predator. On the negative side, the admiring glances from both the girls and the boys didn’t please him as much as they use to. It reminded him too much of Lydia’s last birthday party. A few vacuous stares from innocent children weren’t going to wash those memories away.

He was chatting up with this cute freshman — he thought her name was Violet — about the music selection. The way she was focused on him made him feel a little uncomfortable. He was trying to think of a gentle way to let her know he was with someone else when Lydia snagged him by the shirt.

“Really, Jackson? Freshmen?” 

Jackson let himself be led to a relative vacant corner of the room. “I was just talking to her. You know that.”

“You’re the only pack member here after they dumped the socially-challenged hordes on me, so you get to suffer,” she hissed at him. “Please, please, _please_ make sure none of these babies damages anything they shouldn’t.”

She was actually upset. “Lyds, what’s wrong?”

Her eyes dropped. “We’re selling the lake house. The divorce is final, but … “

“Your father is paying support, right?”

“Yes, but it’s not the same. I didn’t tell anyone because I don’t want everyone worrying about me.”

“Hey.” Jackson gently took her by the shoulders. “We’re supposed to worry about you, just like you’re supposed to worry about us.” 

Lydia looked up into his eyes with gratitude. It was hilarious. They weren’t together, and he was more gentle and sensitive than he had ever been when they were. Maybe Lydia’s theory had something to it.

The banshee tossed her hair. “Violet’s not really your type.”

“No, she’s not. Stiles is busy.” 

“You’re not jealous.”

“No.” Jackson checked himself. “No, I’m not jealous. That’s really weird, isn’t it?”

Lydia sighed. “I think we must be growing up or something … Please, just don’t let them ruin the place?” 

“I won’t.” He notices movement in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. “Is that a keg?”

Lydia stormed off towards the kitchen and Jackson followed her up. It turned out to be DeMarco; Jackson had used him a couple of times when he threw bashes his junior year. He didn’t want to deal with the loser, so he slipped back out of the kitchen and started patrolling the lower level. He caught a couple heading up the stairs; he recognized them as a sophomore girl and a freshman guy but couldn’t be bothered to remember their names.

“Where are you two going?”

They blushed so hard it was adorable. Jackson, of course, put his best scowl on. Real men didn’t call things adorable.

“Well?”

The guy stammered out. “Well, she was feeling a little tipsy so I was going to take her upstairs to lie down.”

“Really? Considering the beer just got here, she’s a light-light-light-lightweight. Or maybe if you wanna go make out, you can do it in your car and not in someone else’s bedroom.”

The girl’s face went super-nova with embarrassment. The boy tried to be chivalrous. “We weren’t …”

“Yeah, sure. Now scoot.”

The couple fled and Jackson smiled to himself. He remembered what it was like the first time he and Lydia had gotten together. As much as a mutual calculation their relationship had been, there were times when it was real. He had lost his virginity to Lydia, and he was pretty sure it had been her first time too. While he had heard horror stories of people’s first time, there’s had been … pleasant. But it had dispelled any anxiety they had about the act.

Jackson smiled to himself as he made a circle of the house. His thoughts moved from the past to the present. He had quickly become accustomed to sex with men while he was London, but it became pretty obvious to him that he was bisexual. Maybe it had been obvious to him before, but he hadn’t been ready to deal with it quite yet. He had had some pretty powerful issues to deal with before a sexuality crisis, and screw everyone else, he would come out when he damn well felt like it.

Now, he was as comfortable with that part of his identity as he was … as he was with hanging around these losers. He wasn’t the slightest bit worried with the pack or his friends. I mean, he had already seduced the alpha, and the only turmoil to result from that was Scott’s fear of taking advantage of him.

To himself, Jackson smirked in triumph.

What would come next was going to be more difficult. He wanted Stiles; it was simple as that. But as far as he knew, Stiles had only been with Malia, and then only a few times. While Stiles had been willing to go on a date with him, had kissed him, had been willing to joke about kissing him, actual sex was a big deal. Jackson wanted it to be special; he wanted Stiles to enjoy it. Stiles was still in a vulnerable state though, after the Nogitsune. Would suggesting it help? Or would it hurt?

Jackson sighed. Maybe someday things would be simple.


	13. The Benefactor (Part 3:  Control is Overrated)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson contemplates the relationship between his boyfriend and his half-sister, learns about the dead pool, and discovers that not everyone is happy he's come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some dialogue taken from _The Benefactor._

If it had been but a minute later, Jackson wouldn’t have heard Malia’s restraint snap. He had been standing right at the door to the basement at that moment; if he had moved even five feet away the dance music coming from Lydia’s speakers would have been enough to drown it out. He hadn’t bothered to filter it out, because while he wasn’t a big fan of techno, but he wasn’t a snob either. Not every dance song that made the rounds at high school parties had to be made to his specifications.

He had been near the door to the cellar at the time because part of his job during the impromptu party was making sure some stupid freshman didn’t wander down into the cellar and wind up a werecoyote’s snack. 

He unlocked the door and slid in before anyone could follow him; a frustrated Lydia had pressed one of the house’s master keys into his hand. She was angry with the pack for dumping the responsibility of throwing the party onto her. Leaving Jackson to check on Stiles and Malia would help her maintain a reasonably polite façade for the hordes of teenagers. After the party, the pack and especially Stiles were going to have to grovel spectacularly to get out of the doghouse she had already put them in. Jackson was looking forward to being a spectator.

Just because he was dating the doofus didn’t mean he couldn’t have some enjoyment at Stiles’ expense.

Jackson wasn’t experiencing any enjoyment at the moment, because a loose, frenzied werecoyote could be all sorts of bad news. Stiles had described to him exhaustively Malia’s full moon issues, and he had heard the coyote complain about it more than once. If she was free and still out-of-control, that heralded danger, including the potential maiming and death of freshmen once she got finished with Stiles. His own control was stable at this moment, but his claws did peak out of the tips of his fingers when he imagined his half-sister mauling his boyfriend.

Jackson descended to the first step leading down into the basement. His instincts told him to go farther, to protect what he found important, but then he heard Stiles’ voice attempting to sooth Malia, whose growl was continuous, ongoing, and so low in pitch to be almost inaudible. 

There was a sense of determination in the voice, one you would not have found there a year before. “I’m not going to run. Because I don’t think you’re going to hurt me.”

Jackson wasn’t as sure about that as Stiles seemed to be. From his own experience and the stories he had heard, Stiles was stupidly brave, and he sometimes underestimated danger, especially when the danger would be to him. Malia was clearly snarling in fear and frenzy.

“And I think maybe you’re so afraid of hurting me because of what you did to your family. I know what that’s like.” 

Malia has stopped snarling. She was listening to him. So was Jackson.

“I remember everything I did. And the worst part is I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless. And most of all, in control. But when I came through it, I learned something else … Control is overrated.” 

Jackson let out a long slow breath, as Stiles words reached her and she let go of the fear that was perpetually triggering her fight-or-flight response. He could hear the relief, and he picture the intimacy. Surprisingly, he wasn’t jealous at all. 

Stiles had told him something similar before in the Calavera’s holding cell, but he had left off a very important concept: control. He understood the desire for control. He understood the sweetness of that feeling, because he had experienced the horror of not having any. He didn’t think Stiles meant it in the same way that he did. He cleared his throat as he descended a few more stairs. “Everything all right down here?”

“We’re fine!” Stiles called out. His heart was still going a mile-a-minute. 

As Jackson reached the bottom of the stairs, Malia gave Stiles another warm hug. “I’m fine. Your boyfriend’s worried about you. Go give _him_ a hug now.”

“Uh. Okay. If you’re sure …”

Malia’s voice was tender and filled with happiness. “If I need you, I know that you’ll be there for me.”

Stiles came up the stairs. The tiniest of smiles was working the edges of his mouth. “She’s got it under control.”

“She does. You did good work.”

“I didn’t really do anything.” 

Jackson snorted. “I don’t think that’s true. She doesn’t think that’s true. You’re really good for her, you know?”

Stiles shrugged but the praise wasn’t lost on him.

“You are. You’re her anchor; you know this right?” Jackson took him by the shoulder, gently. “For someone to spend so much time in coyote form and then return to human form? According to my friend in London, it’s almost unheard of.”

“I didn’t do that. Scott’s roar brought her back.”

“No, it wasn’t just Scott. Alexandrina said it’s rare for this to work. Even if a full shapeshifter becomes human in form, they’ve still been reacting as an animal for so long that they tend to go mad. Dealing with things as an animal is easier. But she stays human in form and behavior, and she does it because you want her to do it.”

Stiles looked down at his feet and then back to the laundry room where Malia was cleaning up. 

“I don’t know why I’m going to ask you the question I just decided to ask. Honestly, it seems to me a level of self-awareness which is annoyingly out-of-character for me. Why not be with her? I’m not fishing for compliments, by the way.” 

Stiles whirled back to him. “I told you.”

“No, you didn’t. And don’t worry, she’s not listening.” Jackson tapped his ear. “I’d know.”

“I don’t want to date her for that reason. I’m her anchor.” Stiles swallowed. “If I dated her, there would always be a part of me that wondered if I was only with her because I liked the thought of someone who couldn’t leave me. There would be another part of me that wondered if she was only with me because I kept her human.” 

Jackson squinted at him. “Aren’t those good reasons to be together?”

“Not if they … how we got together was not under the best of circumstances.”

“How _we_ got together was not under the best of circumstances.”

“Yes, but …” Stiles bit his lip.

“But?”

“You deserve to have to put up with someone like me. She doesn’t.”

Jackson laughed, because he knew that Stiles wasn’t trying to insult him. “Well, with that attitude I might not do it for long!”

“No. No, that’s not what I mean. Jackson, you knew me before … before everything. You know how I’ve changed.”

“I didn’t know you that well. I thought you were an annoying little shit.”

Stiles winked. “You knew me pretty well. But … “

“But what?”

“I wouldn’t be able to convince her of the parts of me that are missing.”

“You’ve been doing fine so far. I listened to you not a few minutes before use your experiences to help her.”

Stiles waved it away in annoyance, but Jackson caught his hand. “I know, Stiles. I know how important control can be.” He pulled Stiles towards him. “I wonder if you do.”

“Oh. I wasn’t talking about control of myself. I was talking about control of … everything. If you can force the world to make sense, if you can protect yourself and those others, you can be happy. But forcing the world requires power.”

“I know. I meant it the same way.” 

Stiles looked up, puzzled. 

“You know why I wanted the Bite, Stiles. I wanted power.”

“Yeah.” Stiles was thoughtfully. “Yeah, I understand. You wanted to make the world into some place where you fit.”

Jackson felt stung. It was true, but it was a flippant way to put it. “Right. So did you.”

That brought a rise out of Stiles but then it disappeared into a shrug. “Yeah. Sorry. Force of habit. I’m still not sure why I want to date someone like you.”

“You’ve got issues but you have good taste?” 

Stiles laughed. He was still laughing when Jackson grabbed him and silenced him with a kiss.

###### 

Jackson left Stiles back with Malia. It was best not to put too much weight on Malia’s recent epiphany right off the bat. Epiphanies could be powerful, but it took focus and time to turn them into true growth. He was a walking example of that idea. 

The party had entered its winding down phase. People were beginning to grow tired, and some, despondent at being alone, started to head on home so they could contemplate the emptiness of the bedroom ceiling. Others were beginning to pair up, and there were things you wanted to do when you met someone you liked that didn’t need an audience. Those who had come as couples to the party were just as tired of sharing their love with other people. As a whole, the party was beginning to lose its cohesion. Jackson gave it forty-five minutes to an hour, tops. The house seemed reasonably intact, thankfully.

He could help it along by giving subtle hints that it was time to shut things down. He grabbed a bag from the kitchen and began to circuit the house, dropping abandoned cups into it. It was universal signal to get out and go home.

“Jackson!” He turned around to see Kira staring at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes.” Kira seemed upset. 

Jackson steered her into the laundry and gave a command to the three party goers there. “Leave.” They obeyed pretty quickly. He still had an air of authority. That could come in useful.

“What happened?”

“Liam got free of the chains and ran into the woods. Scott went after him. He told me to come up here and let everyone know. He’ll try to keep Liam far away from the house.”

Jackson grimaced. “How did he get free?”

“He’s really strong!” exclaimed the kitsune. “We had him tied up and he just snapped the chains. He went out the window.”

He had studied those chains. He might have been able to snap them in full kanima form. Scott would have had trouble with them. “Maybe I should …”

“Scott asked that everyone stay up here and make sure people are safe.” 

Of course, the alpha would do that. Jackson shook his head. Scott was still far too gentle for this type of situation. It wasn’t unheard of for a moon-mad beta to kill their alpha in the depths of their rage. He should ignore the instructions and go find them both in the woods. He could do it.

Kira interrupted his thoughts. “I was going to find Lydia. Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, sure …” He trailed off. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her for at least a half-hour. That was odd. He’d been so consumed with watching the babies and his kiss with Stiles that his ex hadn’t crossed his mind. “I’ll help you find her.”

“Okay. I was just going to ask around.”

“No need.” He touched his nose. “Follow me.”

Even in a house full of people he didn’t know, he was competent enough to find Lydia’s scent. After forgetting for a moment, it was oddly comforting that he could locate her so quickly. He meant what he said about wanting to be her friend. 

They found her in the study, which Jackson never really liked. It was some weird hybrid of 70s and 90s style with just a touch of Mad Scientist Lair. When he and Lydia had been together and they had come out here, they had stayed mostly in the other parts of the house. Mostly the bedroom. That brought a smile to his face. As bad as they were with each other, sometimes they were pretty good as well.

Lydia was kneeling on the floor in front of that record player. There was something that looked like red wine but didn’t smell anything like it spilled on the ground. She was staring at the wall, her eyes vacant, her head tilted as if her attention was something that didn’t really exist. It was like her trance in the veterinarian’s office.

“What is it, Lydia?” Kira asked carefully.

Jackson glanced at the kitsune. He was glad he wasn’t the only one freaked out about this.

“What do you hear?” Kira prodded gently.

“The key,” Lydia replied. Her voice was distant as if she was not fully present.

Jackson turned back and closed the door to the room, so that none of the freshman came in. The silence was nearly overwhelming. He could hear his own heart, slightly elevated, and the rapid beating of Kira’ heart. Lydia’s heart was slow and steady like the beat of a bass drum. 

“The key to break the code.”

Kira pulled on his shirt and whispered. “Sometimes it helps if we move her a little.” He went with her and picked Lydia up gently by the arms. This brought her out of the trance.

“My laptop,” she said suddenly and sharply. She was back to the normal Lydia, who took control of a room, who was always perfectly groomed, who could destroy upstart contenders with a lifted eyebrow. “I need my laptop.”

“I’ll get it!” Kira said cheerily and disappeared out the door.

Jackson filled Lydia on what had happened in the last hours, both the good and the bad. She was pleased by Malia and Stiles, and she was not worried about Scott and Liam. He was studying her with care. “Are you … okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lydia nodded, though her voice was shaky. “It’s hard to … I have to take a moment …”

“After that?”

“I know you’ve been to concerts when the music is so loud that you feel disoriented after it stops. The world outside seems muted and dull. When I hear things, when I enter that state, it can be …”

“Pretty distracting,” he finished for her. 

“Yeah.”

Lydia pointed at the record player. “Whatever this is put me into a receptive state. It trigged my hearing. I’ve never been able been able to trigger one without having a physical object connected to the events I was hearing.”

“You said you heard a key.”

“Yeah. To a Vignere cipher.”

Before Jackson could confirm that it was what Stiles had told him she had transcribed, Kira popped back in with the laptop. Lydia snatched it from her and sat down at the desk across the room to access. The prompt asked for a keyword: Allison.

Jackson swallowed. He felt the tension in the room. 

Names and numbers spilled down the page. He saw the Walcotts. He saw Scott McCall - 23. He saw Lydia - 18. He saw Derek Hale - 13. Kira Yukimura - 5. He saw his own name: Jackson Whittemore - 8.

“It’s a dead pool.” Lydia passed judgment. “And we’re all on it.” 

Jackson stared at her; she stared back at him. Kira was having a silent freak out. He almost tried to argue with her that it was impossible, that there had to be another explanation, and that she was stupid to come to this conclusion. But he couldn’t bring himself to make it. He had changed and so had she and he had to respect that. There was only one thing for him to say.

“Fuck.”

Lydia turned back to the record player. “There are still two more key words. I’m going to find them. Jackson, you need to find Scott in the woods and tell him. He’s worth the most. Kira, you need to tell Stiles and Malia.”

“Do you think they’re on it?” 

“I won’t know it until I find the other words. Go.”

###### 

Jackson had just reached the boat house when Scott and Liam emerged from the tree line near the lake. Both of them were filthy and covered in dirt; they must have been rolling around on the ground. Scott’s shirt had a few claw-shaped tears in it and had patches of his own blood, but they were dried and Jackson couldn’t smell any fresh wounds on them. He didn’t smell Liam’s blood at all. 

Scott seemed relieved and was talking quietly to the younger boy, telling him the story of when he was first bit. Scott told Liam that he insisted on playing lacrosse and dating Allison because he was terrified. “I’d like to say that I was afraid of losing everything I wanted, but when I look back at it, it was about losing me.”

Liam looked confused by his alpha’s words. It was a little deep for a freshman.

“This stuff …” Scott took a deep breath. “This stuff can get really important really quickly. Sometimes it can feel that you don’t have control over your own life. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stop being who you are because I bit you. So, if you ever feel overwhelmed or … or … you feel I’m asking too much of you, you need to tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” 

Jackson decided that then was the perfect time to intervene on this overly seriously conversation. “And if you ever get some jerk blackmailing you, you come to me, okay? I know what to do with them!”

Liam’s eyes got big. “Blackmail?”

“Jackson’s just making a joke. A bad joke.” Scott gave him a reproachful glance. 

Jackson shrugged. “How’s the baby doing, otherwise?”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Liam is doing just fine,” Scott sounded like he was trying to scold Jackson, but all that drew from him was a smirk.

“Seriously though, if you’re doing okay, you might want to go and see your friend … what’s his name, Mason?” Jackson put his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s been pretty much looking for you all night.”

“Oh, no!” 

“Liam, do you think you could go speak to Mason without freaking out?”

“I feel better. A lot better.”

Scott tilted his head sideways considering and then disappeared into the boat house for the seconds, coming out with his phone. “I want you to take this …”

“I’ve got my own phone.”

“You smashed it when you tackled me.” Scott looked apologetic. “If you feel yourself slipping for any reason, call Jackson on the contacts immediately.”

“You have me in your contacts?” 

“Of course. We’ll come find you, okay?”

Liam moved up toward the house.

“You’re going to trust him on his first full moon?” Jackson asked carefully.

Scott nodded vigorously. “I’ve got to get him to trust me, and that means I’ve got to trust him. Derek demanded our trust without trusting us in return. That didn’t work out so good.”

“Well.” 

“Well, what?”

“That didn’t work out so well.”

Scott playfully hit him on the shoulder. Unsurprisingly they were both momentarily startled by a voice from the woods. 

“Scott, I need you to come with me.” The voice belonged to Chris Argent. Jackson could feel his eyes turn electric blue; he couldn’t stop the rush of anxiety and aggression towards the man on the night of a full moon.

The hunter didn’t wait for Scott to answer and started moving up the path to where everyone was parked. Scott had noticed and patted Jackson the back to reassure him.

“He’s our ally now.”

“He’s _your_ ally now.”

Scott gave Jackson a reproving look coupled with his those expressive sad eyes. 

“Fine. He’s our ally now. I don’t have to like it.”

“I’d never make you like anything, Jackson. I know you had some difficult times with him, but give him a chance.” 

Jackson didn’t reply but simply followed the hunter and his alpha up the path to a knot of cars. Mr. Argent was squatting over something next to the car. It didn’t take werewolf senses to figure out what it was. 

“Wonderful.” Jackson sighed exaggeratedly. “That’s a beheaded corpse.”

Mr. Argent was all business, but then again, he was seldom not all business. “Do either of you recognize him?” 

Scott and Jackson forced themselves to look at the body. For some reason, Jackson was surprised, but it was someone he recognized. The man had delivered beer to the party earlier that night. 

“That’s DeMarco. He works for Party Rite Liquors. He delivered a keg to the party.”

“He’s known to deliver to underage people for a bribe,” added Scott. “What happened?”

Mr. Argent didn’t answer immediately but was staring at the severed head. “The wound was cauterized and neat, and there were no other signs of a struggle. I’m guessing a thermal garrote.”

“What the fuck?” Jackson breathed.

“Why would anyone do that?” Scott asked, shocked.

“Oh, right.” Jackson realized he had forgotten his own mission to Scott. He filled the hunter in on what Lydia had discovered. For some reason, Argent was the most distressed by this, but he stuck to the investigation at hand. Scott looked like he was having a bit of trouble processing it all. 

“Scott, can you tell anything by scent?”

The alpha bent over the body. “He’s a werewolf. Part of a pack.”

Argent agreed. “I don’t like the sound of this dead pool that Lydia discovered. I need your help to move the body before anyone else discovers it.”

Jackson protested. “Won’t that be disturbing the crime scene?” 

Mr. Argent turned to him with a sour expression his face. “Unless you want to put your pack’s existence up for anyone to discover, we need to keep the party goers from seeing it. We’ll put it back when everyone is gone and then call the Sheriff.”

“Okay,” Scott said. Jackson shot him a look. 

Scott ran to find a clearing where they could transfer the body, which left Jackson alone with Mr. Argent. He turned away, looking for approaching teenagers that could be steered away from a gruesome discovery. This didn’t stop Jackson from feeling the older man’s eyes upon him. He ignored it for as long as he could before spouting off bitterly.

“You can say it, if you want to. You can say that you told me so.”

“I told you so.” 

Jackson whirled around. The hunter was staring at him with detachment, but Jackson could smell the anger coming from him. For the first time tonight, he felt his real control slipping.

“People are dead, Jackson, because you didn’t listen. You didn’t listen to Scott, and you certainly didn’t listen to me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Going to shoot me because of it?”

Mr. Argent frowned. “I have to admit, it’s tempting. Everyone else might seem to think you don’t bear any blame for what happened, but I certainly do. I look at you and I see a drunk driver.”

“A what?”

“Unless someone’s lived under a rock for the last thirty years, everyone knows that you don’t drink and drive. There are alternatives to drinking and driving. But every year, some idiot drinks and drives and kills someone. You were warned, again and again, and you got the Bite anyway. You knew it was dangerous, so I hold you responsible. But I want to help protect the kids in this town who deserve to live peaceful lives, and if I put two bullets in your forehead, I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.”

“Well, good for me!” Jackson shifted uncomfortably. 

“Yes. Good for you. But don’t you think for one second I’ve forgotten the lives lost to your recklessness. Scott’s the one who believes that everyone deserves a second chance, not me. Not for you.”

“I’m glad we had this talk. I’m just going to …”

Scott came out of the woods. He pulled up to a stop, obviously sensing the tension between the two of them. “Is everything okay?”

“Jackson and I were just getting reacquainted.” 

Jackson didn’t say anything and Scott didn’t force him to do it. Instead, they picked up DeMarco’s body as gingerly as they could so as to disturb the minimum amount of forensics, and carted it off into the woods. Argent followed with the head.


	14. I.E.D. (Part 1: It's Their Profession)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson takes pleasure in his relationship with his alpha, his adopted father, his mentor, and his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows some dialogue from the Teen Wolf episode _I.E.D._

There was a time when Jackson thought he’d never ever need to be with anyone else but Lydia, ever. It didn’t turn out to be true, and he had been with over two dozen people of various sexes — and species — over the last year. The Hellfire Club had no shortage of opportunities to explore the tantalizing variety of the carnal act. After months there, he expected never to be shocked again. 

Only now he found himself awed as the True Alpha rode him to both of theirs’s completion within the confines of the bedroom. They were loud, growling and scratching at each other, tearing the bedclothes apart, and it would have been intense for Jackson even without the knowledge of who he was with and what he was doing. Jackson was glad that Scott’s mother was at the hospital and Scott’s father was on a short trip to San Francisco that night, because no one in that house would have mistaken what exactly was going on. 

When they were spent, Jackson was lying on his back, feeling slightly dazed. Scott lifted himself carefully from the cowboy position and collapsed to the bed next to him. They were both breathing heavily. 

“I needed that.” Scott wiped the sweat from his face with one hand. 

“Did you?”

Scott nodded solemnly and ran a hand down Jackson’s chest, deliberately smearing his mess across the skin as if it were fascinating. “You were right, you know.”

“I love being right, but since I’m also a little overwhelmed by this … can you tell me what I was right about?”

The alpha chuckled. “You told me at practice the other day: I’m spreading myself too thin. I’m not giving myself time to relax, and it’s starting to make me sloppy. I’ve been trying to think about Kate, about Kira, about Liam, about schoolwork, and about these assassins … I felt pulled in so many directions, that I was completely afraid I was going to snap. Thanks to you, I don’t feel like that right now.” Scott pushed himself up on one elbow to look down on him. “Wait … you’re overwhelmed?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jackson raised both eyebrows, though he didn’t move. He was too comfortable; his muscles felt liquid. “You just bottomed for me.”

“Was I … was I not supposed to?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not something … well, it took me a while to bring myself to do it. And you’re an alpha.” Jackson shrugged, leaving off the explanation that most of the alphas he had met refused to be in that position. “You didn’t have to do that; a lot of guys wouldn’t have.”

“Oh.” Scott bit his lip. “Was I okay?”

“Yeah.” Jackson laughed. “You were fantastic. Very enthusiastic.”

Scott smiled at the praise and closed his eyes. Jackson thought he might be going off to sleep but he saw the smile slowly fade off his face and replaced with worry. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s nothing.”

It was certainly not nothing. Jackson wanted to bask in the afterglow himself, but he was also feeling talky. He hadn’t exaggerated the amount of effort Scott had put into this. Or had had put into him. He studied the other man in the moonlight. 

“This is about Kira, isn’t it? You haven’t told her yet.”

Scott’s eyes snapped open. “No. No, I told her. I kinda told her.”

“You _kinda_ told her.”

“I told her that there was something I had to tell her. Something about you and the responsibilities that come with being your alpha; something she may not like. But I haven’t given any details.”

“Scott …”

“I know. I know! But I really like her. I do. And I’m afraid that she’s not going to understand the difference between what she and I would do if we were going to do anything, and what you and I do now. And I like what we do now.”

“I think that she’ll understand the difference between you two making love and you screwing — and being screwed by — your co-captain.”

“Will she?” Scott sighed. “A lot of people wouldn’t. My parents wouldn’t. Most of the pack wouldn’t. They’d think I was cheating … but I’m not. What we do isn’t emotional.”

Jackson grunted.

“No, that’s not what I meant! There _are_ emotions between us. I like you, but it’s not like I dream about moving in with you and maybe getting married. It’s not the same way I feel about Kira. It’s … it’s how I feel when Stiles is upset and I go over and we play dumb games until he feels better, or when he makes fun of me until I’m annoyed with him rather than feeling sad or mad with whatever’s bothering me.”

“Yeah, I get it. A lot of people think of you have to be in love or there’s something wrong with having sex.”

“They’re amatonormative.”

Jackson tilted his head to stare at Scott. “Studying for the PSATs?” 

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

Jackson laid back down until he heard the sound of cloth tearing. Scott was slowly cleaning both of them off with part of his sheet. Jackson would’ve suggested using a towel, but the sheets had been ruined during their rather aggressive fucking. 

“Sorry.”

“What’re you sorry about?”

Jackson gestured at the sheet. “You’re going to need new ones.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s okay that we trashed them, because I don’t know how to get bloodstains out anyway.”

“Sorry, I did get kind of carried away there.”

Scott paused in what he was doing. “Dude, the fact that I can let go when I’m with you is part of what makes this so good. I had to be so careful when I was with Allison and I was only a beta. I can’t imagine how careful I’m going to have to be now that I’m an alpha. It’s also pretty hot. I’m sure you like it too.”

Considering that most of the blood on the sheets was Scott’s, Jackson couldn’t argue with that. “I do.”

When he had finished cleaning them both up as much as he could, Scott flipped the piece of the sheet to the floor and laid back down. “Have you had sex with Stiles yet?”

“That came out of left field.”

“Ehn. It’s a natural shift in conversation.”

“No. We haven’t.”

“Do you feel for Stiles the way I’m starting to feel about Kira?”

Jackson could have immediately answered, but, instead, he paused to think. In the quiet of the room, he could order his thoughts to make a real answer. “I think I will. I think I’m getting pretty close.”

“Good.”

“Not going to give me a shovel talk?”

“Do I have to? It should go without saying.” Scott turned so his mouth was close to Jackson’s ear. “Sometimes I felt so bad for him, last year.”

“Why? Because you had a girlfriend and he didn’t? I’m sure it didn’t bother him too much not to have something similar. After all, her family was trying to kill you.” 

Scott laughed out loud. “Everyone was trying to kill me. You were trying to kill me. But it was new and special, what Allison and I had. It made a lot of terrible things bearable sometimes. And he didn’t get to feel anything like it, and he went through some terrible things just like I did. I’m glad he’ll get experience something like that now.”

Jackson frowned at that. “Do you think I make things bearable for him?”

“I don’t know. But you could. And he deserves the chance to feel that way.”

They lapsed into silence. Jackson wished he could go to sleep. He didn’t have to be anywhere early the next day, as it was going to be Sunday. He could curl up right there in Scott’s bed and sleep past noon. But the thought of Stiles suddenly plagued him. Why would Scott possibly expect him to be good for his friend? He had asked for Jackson’s help when Jackson had first returned to Beacon Hills, but it had obviously been a request made out of desperation. 

Scott had to know that Jackson hadn’t suddenly become a good person. He was still the kanima. He may not be under someone else’s control or stupidly ignorant about what he could do, but he still only cared mostly for himself. Scott shouldn’t trust him with Stiles.

“Why are we talking about this?” He sat up in the bed sharply. “We’ve got bounties on us.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not …”

Scott put a hand on the bare skin of Jackson’s shoulder. “This is Beacon Hills. Stiles and I restarted the Nemeton, so there will always be something happening. When we get up today, if you still want to freak out, I’ll freak out with you. But right now, I don’t feel like talking about bad things. I want talk about good things. Tell me what you like about Stiles.”

Jackson let Scott pull him back down into the bed. He stared at the darkened ceiling as if trying to find an answer, listening to his own heart and Scott’s heart while he did so. It was soothing.

“This is going to sound weird …”

“Dude, our lives.”

“I like him because he used to hate me.”

Scott did a double take at that. 

“I’ve talked about how you’ve gotta understand that you’ll never get the old Stiles back.”

The alpha nodded.

“And you didn’t get the old Jackson back.”

“Right.” Scott looked a little mystified. 

“So, Stiles hated me back then. You didn’t hate me, even when I was blackmailing you. You fought to save my life. Lydia didn’t hate me, even when I treated her like utter crap. Even when I accused her of sabotaging my werewolf transformation, she still sought to help me. Stiles was the one who tried to get you to kill me when I wouldn’t accept what I had become.”

“Stiles didn’t mean …”

“Yes, Stiles did, Scott. You know he did. It was just who he is.” Jackson made sure to smile widely so Scott could see him. “And that’s great.”

“Why is it great?”

“Because he likes me now. He does, and he remembers when he didn’t like me. Which means I’ve changed. It means that I’m better. It wouldn’t mean the same from Lydia because she loved me at my worst. And it wouldn’t mean the same from you because … well, you like everybody.”

“Not everybody.”

“Almost everybody. Look. When I came back, I started getting close to Stiles to help him, because you asked me to. The cool thing was he started wanting to get close to me as well. Maybe he saw a kindred spirit; maybe he was grateful; maybe he saw hope. It doesn’t matter. Someone who hated me now likes me, and that’s a big deal. I love that feeling; I want to keep feeling it.”

Scott laughed and rubbed his hand up Jackson’s arm and up through his hair. “Be careful. Stiles’ devotion can be a powerful thing.”

“I’m counting on it. Let’s get some sleep.”

###### 

“You’re stronger than I remember,” David Whittemore joked as Jackson helped him into bed. They had set up a hospital bed in the living room, so his father wouldn’t be isolated in the bedroom for the duration of his recovery. He could watch television, entertain guests, and still rest as much as his doctors had insisted he should. After much grousing and compromise, he could even do some work for one hour and only one hour a day. Jackson had threatened to destroy his laptop if he found his father working more than that.

Jackson laughed at the joke, but he was not going to try to explain. The time to discuss species changes was not while his father was recovering from a major heart attack.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Friday night had been the full moon and the party at the Martin boat house. He had spent Saturday night with Scott. This afternoon had seen him helping his father in the pool; gentle exercise was part of his rehabilitation. He and his father had slowly walked around in the water for a half hour. 

It was hard for his father to accept Jackson’s help. Arrogance and a refusal to admit weakness wasn’t genetic; it was nurture, not nature. Just as Jackson had wanted to prove himself to parents he had never even met, David Whittemore had the drive to be the best lawyer, the best husband, and the best father. This meant that sometimes he came off too forcefully, and sometimes his ego stood in his own way. Having his son help him around like an invalid was irritating.

“But, Dad, you _are_ an invalid.” 

“I don’t have to like it.”

Jackson let David complain, but all-in-all it had been a good afternoon. His father seemed healthier, even if he was still frail. Once Jackson had got him back into his bed, it looked like David was feeling tired, but he wouldn’t say so. Jackson told him he wanted to do some homework before dinner and went up to his room. His father was asleep before he reached the door to his room.

He did intend to do some homework, though he didn’t have much, but when he opened up his laptop, he had a message from Alexandrina. It was an invitation to a chat program — and it said ‘Any time.’ It didn’t take him long to register for the site and get along. He hadn’t heard of this program before, and it had crazy amounts of security.

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** It’s about time. 

**J_Whittemore_327:** I’m sorry. Why are we using a chat program?

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** I’ve not done it before. I have no intention of being left behind by technology.

Jackson smiled at the computer. He had no doubt that it was Alexandrina now. She enjoyed being challenged by change.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** You seem to have gotten the hang of it.

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** Of course I have. What’s with that handle? I thought they were supposed to be expressive.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** I literally started this half an hour ago.

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** Should we be using chat speak? Y u don’t understand? Did I do it right?

 **J_Whittemore_327:** I think that’s text speak. 

**Hellfire_Mistress:** Oh well. I looked into that matter you e-mailed me about.

Jackson had sent a copy of the Dead Pool code and the part that had been deciphered to Alexandrina. He hadn’t told Scott about doing so. It wasn’t because he thought that Scott would forbid him or even question it. It was because he knew that his old alpha and his new one were very different creatures, and if Alexandrina offered him advice, he wanted to be able to make the decision on his own whether to follow it. He told himself that this wasn’t the same as a lie. It was a choice.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** Is it as bad as we think?

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** Yes. The list has been distributed to every appropriate contractor across the world, as far as I can tell. 

**J_Whittemore_327:** That is bad.

It was reasonable to think that there were only certain specific groups of assassins who knew of the existence of the supernatural. The pack had hoped that it was only distributed to local talent — local meaning California — but if the people that Alpha Blakeslee knew in Europe had it, they could assume that it was worldwide. Jackson had been introduced to some professionals at the club, and he was hoping he wouldn’t see them in Beacon Hills. They were not people to underestimate. 

**Hellfire_Mistress:** I’ve instructed the no club member is to take the offer.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** You didn’t have to do that.

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** I know that. I have my reasons. 

He bit his lip. From what Alexandrina had taught her of London politics, she did have the influence to make demands like that, but she couldn’t do it without serious consideration. A leader of the Club who abused their power wouldn’t remain a leader very long. There was only one thing to say.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** Thank you.

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** Not that I feel I have to warn you or anything, but you should be very careful. The calibre of contractors can vary dramatically. There are those who could make things difficult for you.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** Any advice?

 **Hellfire_Mistress:** Follow the money. And you might want to think about taking you and your family on a London vacation.

 **J_Whittemore_327:** Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.

Jackson switched off the chat program. He understood what she meant. The members of the pack were supernatural creatures — well, most of them. He, Scott, Liam, Malia, and Derek had strength and speed and heeling. They had and teeth and claws. Kira had inherited skills and her thunder powers. Lydia could sense death approaching. But against trained assassins? They had a better chance of surviving than normal humans would, but they didn’t have the experience to be truly secure. 

Jackson could smell blood for almost a half mile, but he might not be able to recognize the smell of a bomb planted in his Porsche. Scott had survived being electrocuted and impaled, but he wouldn’t survive being cut in half in his bed. They didn’t have the training to survive this and they couldn’t hire bodyguards or call in the FBI without endangering their secrets. Stiles’ father might have been a good small-town sheriff, but this was far out of his league. 

This wasn’t a lacrosse match. If they lost, they wouldn’t miss the state finals. If they lost, they’d be dead. Maybe he should take his mother and father and go to London until it was over.

Jackson looked up from the computer and saw the reflection of his face in the mirror. He had a pack. He had cousins. He had an alpha that cared for him and was beginning to rely on him. As much as he had hated the idea of coming back, he found that his discomfort, his fear, about this place had vanished. Beacon Hills was a hellhole, obviously, but it was a place where he fit.

And then there was Stiles. Stiles needed him, and he needed Stiles. As transformative as Alexandrina had been, she didn’t really need him. He liked being needed. That was the truth. He wanted to be needed. By his mom, by his dad, by Liam and Kira, by Malia and Derek, by Lydia, by Scott, and especially by Stiles. 

No. He couldn’t leave them. 

“So, I guess I’m just going to have to bring my a-game.” He could do that. After all, he was Co-Captain.

###### 

“I think Kira’s right. I think we should stop the game.” Stiles laid it out in simple terms. There was a degree of common sense to the position. Evidence pointed to an assassin on the team, and the lacrosse scrimmage was out in the open. There were too many was for an assassin, especially one with that amount of access, to get close to one of the three people on the team who were worth millions and millions of dollars. Liam could be a target as well.

“I’m not afraid.” And there it was. Whether it was the smart play or not, Scott wasn’t going to protect himself if it meant someone else was going to get killed. He was worth the most and in the most danger in the open, and he could have easily played defense and been safe until the police managed to resolve the issue. But that wasn’t going to happen.

“Neither am I.” Kira sounded less convinced of that, but she was willing to stand behind Scott. Jackson could tell from the way she was standing that she was both terrified and excited at the same time: by playing in the game, by being targeted by assassins, and by Scott. Jackson hoped that Scott would talk to her soon.

“I think we have to play, because I don’t think we can stop the game. What do we tell Coach? Oh, there’s an assassin on the team who’s planning to kill one of us for reasons we can’t tell you and we’re not sure who it is. Now the four of us could just not show up, but that just means the assassin will try another time. It’s practical.” Jackson leaned up against the wall in front of all the disassembled crosses. “And, besides, I want to get out on the pitch again.”

“Well, I’m terrified. And I’m not even on the list. Guys, these are professional killers. It’s their profession. One of them has a thermo-cut wire that cuts heads off. Who knows what else they have?” Stiles ultimately didn’t care about the lacrosse game. It was just a scrimmage, but Jackson doubted it would have mattered to him if it was a real game. He didn’t care about the other possible victims. His only concern was the people in this room that he did care about who would be in danger. And maybe, also Liam. Maybe.

Scott went over to him. “Whoever this assassin is, we outnumber him. Between the four of us, we can watch each other and Liam. We can do this.”

Stiles grimaces. “You’re not listening.”

“I am listening, Stiles.” Scott bumped in the shoulder and moved to head out to his next class. Kira followed him. “I’m just not willing to hide, especially if we don’t even know that they’re going to do something during the game.”

Stiles watched the pair of them leave. Jackson had a class to get to, but he was willing to be late. 

“One of these days …” Stiles started. 

“What?”

“Sometimes I don’t know how we’re friends, let alone best friends.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Because no one can remember a time when you weren’t.”

“I don’t know.” 

Jackson came over and stepped into the other boy’s personal space. “Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes, but he didn’t move away. “There used to be a time where we didn’t have to discuss what we were going to do. We didn’t argue over a course of action. We’d just do it, like we were thinking on the same wavelength. Now … now I’m not sure we even understand each other.”

“You’re just worried about him.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m just worried about him!” Stiles shouted. Immediately, he calmed down. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’ve got a thick skin. What’s the point of what we’re doing if I can’t take a little of the old Stilinski charm?”

Stiles looked at Jackson suddenly, in the face. “What are we doing? You’re going to be out on that field, too, and you’re worth eight million dollars.”

“What’s life without a little risk?”

“This isn’t funny, Jackson! You don’t know …” Stiles moved to storm out of the room to go to his class. They should both be going to class, but Jackson couldn’t have cared less. He snagged Stiles by the arm so he couldn’t leave.

“The good guys don’t always win!” Stiles nearly shouted. “Sometimes they lose.”

“I know that, Stiles. I’ve been dead before. Twice, actually.” 

Stiles hissed at him, teeth gritted. “It’s not the same. One of these days, you’re going to go down and you’re not going to get up. You’re bad enough with your ridiculous asshole affectations about whether you deserve to be here!”

“My … what?”

“Don’t interrupt me! None of you know. None of you know what it’s like to lose someone so close to you that sometimes you pretend that it didn’t happen. None of you wake up in the morning and pretend that she’s going to be downstairs, making you breakfast. I told Lydia this, but she doesn’t believe me. No one believes me.” He was breathing heavily. 

“I think Scott does.” Jackson wasn’t going to bring up Allison’s name.

“Then why doesn’t he act like it? Doesn’t he understand …” Stiles snapped his teeth shut. “He doesn’t understand, no matter how many times I tell him. Twisting that sword felt amazing. Nothing else mattered. Did he realize what I was going to do next? I was going to tear it right out through his heart.” 

Jackson doesn’t bother telling Stiles it wasn’t him. Stiles knew it already, just as Jackson knew that he had had no choice but to follow orders. It didn’t help to hear it.

“He’s been so close to death so many times.” Stiles whispered. “And I just keep wondering what part of me he’ll take when he goes.”

Jackson couldn’t stop himself; he grabbed Stiles by both arms and shook him a little. “Stop that.” More gently, instinctually, because he didn’t really do it consciously, he took Stiles in his arms. Stiles didn’t fight him. “Stop doing that to yourself. Because he’s not going to die. We’ll prevent that, no matter what we have to do. Do you believe me?”

“What can I do?”

“You know what you can do,” Jackson hissed. “Just like I know what I can do.”

Stiles looked up at him and the fear was there. The fear that he was only showing Jackson. It felt perverse to Jackson, that this demonstration, this trust, made him very happy. 

“We can do what we know we can do, because we’ve done it before. We’ll find a way.” 

They were both late to class.


	15. I.E.D. (Part 2: I Just Have Voices in My Head)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson spends way too much time trying to be helpful. Don't these people know he has a lacrosse game to play?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows some dialogue from the episode _I.E.D._

Malia tracked Jackson down before his fifth period. She snagged him by his backpack right before he was about to enter the classroom.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Jackson grimaced at her as people filed into the classroom around them. “You’re going to have to give me more information than that.”

Malia’s expression indicated that she was stuck between wanting to slug him and wanting to apologize to him. “I guess I do know what I did wrong. I pushed Lydia too hard on this key thing. I was just nervous, you know? I wanted to see the rest of the list, because I wanted to know if I was on it.” 

Jackson chuckled; he understood completely. “If she scolded you, that’s just Lydia being Lydia. Take her out to shop and apologize, and everything will be just fine.”

“No.” Malia pouted. “She wasn’t angry. She was … it’s like when I try to talk to my father about my time in the woods, and he gets this look in his eyes …”

He gestured for her to continue. “What look?”

“Like he doesn’t really believe what I’m saying, even though I’ve told him time and time again. And I get so frustrated and angry, but I’m also sad because it isn’t his fault that he doesn’t understand me, it’s my fault. Because I ran away for all those years ago.”

“How upset was she?”

“She was almost crying. She’s trying her best and I made it worse, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where she went.” 

“She ran off?”

“Yeah.” Malia looked miserable. “Maybe I should have followed her and made sure she was okay, but I was the one who made her upset, so I …” She shrugged in frustration. “This is so hard.” 

“Don’t worry. I know where she went.” Jackson hesitatingly lifted up his hand and patted Malia tentatively on the shoulder. “And just so you don’t feel bad — it’s hard for everyone.”

He did have a good idea of where to go. Even before supernatural craziness had entered their lives, Lydia’s life hadn’t been perfect. Like everybody else, she fought with her friends; she fought with him. But, unlike everybody else, Lydia insisted that her life have to appear to be perfect, so when she lost control of her emotions, she would exit any scene as quickly as possible. When that happened, there was one place where she preferred to go.

Jackson strode into the women’s restroom like it was the most normal thing to do in the world. His decision to do so was a third part arrogance, a third part confidence, and a third part the knowledge given to him by his supernatural senses that there were only two people in the room and no one was actually _using_ the facilities. The way the school had been built, this was the least convenient place for students to use, though the mousy blond at the sinks re-touching her over-the-top cosmetics looked up at him in fright. 

“Out,” he commanded. As she scrambled to obey, he was struck by how much she _wasn’t_ like another blond with a fondness for makeup. Erica had also went a little heavy on the lipstick and the eye shadow, but it had been a statement. Erica had told the world that she was here, and that she wouldn’t be an object of ridicule ever again. He wondered if he would have liked Erica if he had gotten to know her better, if he hadn’t had his head shoved so far up his ass with his ridiculous selfish schemes that he rejected the opportunity to be pack. 

The more time he had spent with Alexandrina, the more time he spent with Scott and his pack, the more comfortable and secure he felt. He had thought it would have been other way around, being part of a group, worried about slipping into the background and vanishing. He had been wrong. 

He tried to push those negative thoughts away. He had screwed up a lot of things. Some could not be fixed. And some could. He stepped up to the stall where Lydia was and knocked on it. 

“Go away, Jackson.”

“Nope.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm. I’m still not going anywhere.”

She yanked open the stall door and put her hands on her hips in her traditional fighting pose. “When have you ever known me to want witnesses when I’m crying?”

“Never. That doesn’t mean you don’t need someone.” 

Lydia brushed passed him on her way to the sink. She didn’t have her purse with her, so she pulled paper towels from the dispenser and arranged them on the ceramic. “Thank you very much, but I’ll be alright in a few minutes. I simply got a little frustrated.”

“Since you’re only a little frustrated, you won’t mind if I stick around and wait for you, then?”

She didn’t reply at first. She, expertly, even without proper tools, repaired her face and straightened her hair. She seemed oblivious to their location, and she didn’t even react to his ongoing stare.

A single girl, someone he didn’t know, came into the restroom. Jackson gave her a glare as if she had done something rude. “Busy. Find another.”

Lydia has completed her reconstruction, as the new girl beat a hasty retreat. Lydia looked as beautiful as she always did, if a little tired.

“You shouldn’t press yourself too hard.” That must have been the wrong for him to say for she suddenly turned on him, eyes blazing. She was simply upset any more, now she’s angry. Very angry. Very angry with _him._

“And what would you know about how hard I’ve been working? What would you know about my limits?” She tossed her hair at him. “You’ll find I am more than capable of determining for _myself_ what I should expect out of _myself._ ”

Jackson stepped back in defense. “Okay. What did I do?”

“You’re being dim. There is a list of supernatural creatures targeted for death. They may be being killed as we speak. Some of them happen to be my friends. The only reason we discovered this list is my powers. The only reason we decoded any part of this list is my powers. I don’t like doing leaving things half finished. The best chance to decode the entire list, to find out who is responsible, and to stop it before anyone else dies are my powers. Don’t tell me I’m not pushing myself hard enough. If anything, I should have gotten the second keyword by now.”

“You aren’t going to get anything by —”

“Again, I ask what would you know about it?” She snapped, angrily. “You disappear overseas and then when you deign to come back you’re suddenly so … so _not_ you. You suddenly get along with Scott. You want to get to know Malia, a girl you wouldn’t have given the time of day to before. You’re helpful and knowledgeable. You’re dating Stiles!”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Is it drugs? A really great therapist? A knock on the head? Tell me!” She was furious, but her eyes were filling with tears. “Now, you help out with freshmen parties and you stand in the girl’s restroom waiting for me to get my act together, and the only thing I want to know is where this was when I needed you? Why couldn’t you have been like this before?”

“Oh, Lydia …” He stepped forward. He didn’t take her in his arms, because he didn’t have that right any more to do that, but he held them out to her as an offer. 

“It’s not fair.” She stepped forward into his arms, but she didn’t collapse. She wouldn’t. “It’s just not fair.”

Eventually, they relaxed into the hug. They had hugged before, but now there was no tension. There was simply warmth. 

“I thought …”

“No. I don’t want to date you.” Lydia sniffled. “There’s too much in the past. But if you had been like this then, I … we could have had more. What happened?”

Jackson squeezed her before answering. “I think that … I think that you don’t quite understand things.” He looked her in the eyes. “I’m not suddenly a great guy. Yes, I’ve come to some revelations about my life. I’ve resolved — a little bit — some of my problems with my family.” 

Pausing, he thought about that. Yes, he had resolved who his father was, but he still had to resolve what he was going to do with the news of his own father. 

“That’s progress, Jackson.”

“But you’re thinking I went to London and found a wonderful, magical cure for all my ailments. And you’ve got it all backwards. It’s not London that’s special. It’s this place — this place is terrible.”

Lydia looked at him. “It’s …”

“It’s that bad Lydia. Do you know how many supernatural murders there were in London in the eight months I was there? One, and it was a duel between equals!” Jackson shook his head. “In the last year, you — _just you_ — have been savaged by a deranged alpha in order to jump start your powers so he could resurrect himself, you’ve had your boyfriend turn into a murderous lizard thing, you’ve been strangled by an evil druid, and finally you’ve been kidnapped by an ancient demon wearing a friend’s face. That’s in a _year,_ Lydia!”

She sparked up. “So, things have been difficult —”

“Things have been more than difficult, Lydia. Things have been insane. And that’s just you! Scott’s a seventeen-year-old True Alpha, and Stiles is the only known survivor of nogitsune possession. They’re lucky with all the stress and trauma they’ve endured that they haven’t snapped and become serial killers. And that’s not even counting this _Dead Pool!_ ”

Lydia swallowed. “I can’t tell if you’re actually criticizing us. What are you really trying to say?”

“What I am trying to say is that you guys are the ones that are amazing. Not me. You’re still alive. You’re still sane!”

“Well, we’ve been better,” Lydia protested. She did smile. She always did like being praised.

“Of course, you’ve been better. After all, there’s a limit to what people can endure. When I came back, Scott was ready to snap like a dead branch, Stiles had zero idea who he was anymore, and you were holding things together by sheer denial. Do you want to know why I seem so much better than when I left? So calm and insightful? It’s called _time._ I still have issues, but I had eight months of peace to deal with them. I had mentors and therapists and time. I got to grow up. When I tell you …”

She lifted both eyebrows at him. 

“When I _ask_ you to not put so much pressure on yourself, I’m only asking you to give yourself what I had. Give yourself _time._ So you can’t pluck the other keywords out of the ether. So what! No one would even know about the Dead Pool without you.”

“People are dying, Jackson.”

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “Torturing yourself because you haven’t mastered being a banshee in four months isn’t going to save a single one of them.” 

Lydia stepped back out of the embrace. “I still meant it. If you had been like this when we were dating, we’d still be dating.”

“I know.”

She winked at his arrogance. “Now that I’ve calmed down enough not to embarrass myself, you’re going to walk me to the library. We’ve missed class, but that’s not a problem.”

Jackson followed her out of the bathroom. 

“You know.” Lydia’s voice was whimsical. “I want to go to a dance.”

“It’d be nice.”

“The Winter Formal’s coming up.” She smiled slyly. 

“The … Winter … Formal …” 

“You’re right. I’m not going to save everyone by torturing myself about what I can’t change. That includes the past. The Winter Formal last year was a total bust, but I think this year it could be really great. You should take Stiles.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “Who would you go with?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got my eye on a few people, or I might just go stag. There’s no shame in it.”

He chuckled. “Would … would Stiles go with me?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not the only one with issues. Would he want to go out and do normal teenage things?” 

Lydia hums. “I guarantee it. You and Stiles. Scott and Kira. Malia and … someone. Maybe even Liam.”

“You’d be seen in the company of a freshman?”

“You’re not the only one who has grown as a person. He’s pack.” 

Jackson laughed. Lydia elbowed him in the ribs. 

“I know it sounds ridiculous but …”

“No. No, Lydia, it doesn’t sound ridiculous. Well, part of me thinks it sounds ridiculous, but part of me thinks it’s a really good type of ridiculousness.”

“You’re going to be careful tonight at the game. Do you hear me Jackson? I’ll never forgive you if you deprive me of the sight of you and Stiles dancing to Rihanna.” 

“I would never do that to you.”

###### 

The hardest part about being a bad person and then wanting to be a good person had always been getting from Point B (Bad) to Point G (Good). Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not just about no longer being bad. It’s also not about only being good. It’s about taking what you did in the past and making something better out of it. And that’s hard. So hard. Jackson knew this from personal experience.

So, as he lurked on the edge of the crowd and watched Liam approach the members of the Devenford Prep lacrosse team, he understood. What Liam was trying to do wasn’t easy. The newly bitten beta wasn’t sweeping what he had done under the rug; he was trying to show he’s changed and part of that is apologizing to the people whose lives he’d messed up. Apologies didn’t really do anything. Jackson knew that. They were useful as an opening bid. 

Jackson recognized the tall snotty bastard who threatened Liam from last year’s season: Brett Talbot. He knew the type of person Talbot was; he had been that type. Loyalty of his team mates and a very pretty face was the only thing that the boy had going for him. Jackson didn’t move as he saw Liam start to lose it; Scott had that covered. He was much more entertained by Stiles playing the role of diplomat, and he was doubly entertained the moment he recognized that Stiles had moved from being concerned about Liam to being irritated by Talbot.

After Stiles and Scott had escorted the hanging-onto-control-by-literally-his-fingernails Liam away, the team from Devenford started milling about. This was supposed to be a chance for them to interact with the Beacon Hills High School student. Jackson scanned the group, but he didn’t see Danny. He wasn’t surprised; Danny, being a senior like Jackson, would be able to drive to near-by away games by himself. Smirking, Jackson sauntered over to tall, blond, and bitchy. 

“Hey.”

Talbot looked at him through hooded eyes.

“Look. You fucking try anything with Dunbar, and they’ll be carting you home in a shoebox with holes poked in the lid. Understood, doorknob?”

“Is that so?”

Jackson clucked his tongue and nodded. “That is indeed so.” 

They seized each other up. Yeah, Jackson knew this type. 

“What’s he to you?”

“He’s my teammate. Maybe you don’t understand what that means at Fancy Boy Academy.” Jackson huffed. Silently, he added: _And he’s pack._

Talbot glared at him, which Jackson deflected with a lift of his eyebrows. Slowly, and with every intent to demonstrate how little he thought of the other player, Jackson turned and walked at a leisure pace toward the locker room, following Scott’s, Stiles’ and Liam’s scent. It made sense that they would go. At this time of day, no one would probably be in it, and no one would question the lacrosse co-captain being in there after school.

Scott and Stiles were barely holding the snarling, raging Liam under the water. The first thought that occurred to Jackson was how the hell was Stiles holding back a rampaging beta as strong as Liam? On second look, though, Jackson realized that Stiles had achieved position on him with a simple judo hold. He had better footing and leverage. Still, it made Jackson nervous. Liam had a large claws and a large fanged maw. 

Jackson rushed up and pushed Stiles out of the way. Stiles made a squawk of protest when he did so. Working together, Stiles’ encouraged and Scott’s presence finally calmed Liam down. He came back to humanity and sat down in the shower. They tried to figure out what had happened between Liam and Brett. With reluctance, Liam explained why he had obliterated his coach’s car.

“What happened?” Stiles demanded.

“I got a couple of red cards.” Liam tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, but red cards in high-school lacrosse meant either an intentional, blatant foul or a fight. 

“Just a couple?” 

To the untrained ear, Stiles’ words sounded like his usual sarcasm, but Jackson detected the beginnings of hysteria in his voice. He wondered if Scott had ever noticed it creeping into Stiles’ usual tones. Probably not. He remembered Scott and Stiles from middle school and their freshman year. Stiles was always the leader; it probably wouldn’t occur to Scott to think that if he could handle it, Stiles may not have been able to. 

Scott squatted down in front of the shower stall where the soaking Liam continued being miserable. “Liam, you have to be honest with us. We’re not going to get angry; all of us have done bad things. What else happened?” 

Liam looked up and told the trio about his diagnosis for Intermittent Explosive Disorder.

Stiles’ exasperation broke through. “I.E.D.? You’re literally an I.E.D.? That’s great. That’s just fucking great. Way to go, Scott, you gave super powers to a walking time bomb.” 

Scott didn’t react to the sarcasm. Probably, he had been exposed to it for so long that it didn’t even register. Scott wouldn’t think critically, about the idea that Stiles wouldn’t realize that there was another person in the room. Jackson, on the other hand, did. He walked right over to Stiles and grabbed him by the shoulders and started steering him towards Coach’s office.

“Jackson? What the hell?” Stiles tried to struggle, but he wasn’t strong enough.

Scott and Liam looked up in the middle of their heartfelt exchange. Liam was mystified. Scott was confused and a little concerned.

Jackson didn’t bother to turn and look back at them. “Stiles and I have something to do.”

“Something to do? Don’t you think you oughta ask me first?” 

They reached the frosted glass door. Holding on to Stiles with one hand he opened it up and pushed Stiles inside the office. “Nope.”

Stiles stumbled across the office, so he didn’t have time to react before Jackson had entered the room and shut the door behind him. Jackson locked it behind him without looking.

“What the fuck?” Stiles started up again. He was red-faced with embarrassment and anger.

Jackson did not hold back, getting right up in the other boy’s face. “Exactly. Exactly, Stiles. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It came out low and sharp, a whispered hiss of rage. 

“I … I don’t know?” Stiles was suddenly cowed.

“You love pointing out how stupid people are, don’t you? Do you understand how fundamentally stupid you were being in there?” 

Stiles’ mouth fell open and his eyes scrunched up. He obviously didn’t.

“You were making fun of a week-old werewolf with a personality disorder. A week-old werewolf whose temper tantrum busted up a car so badly that an alpha might have trouble matching that level of destruction. A week-old werewolf who’s prescribed medication won’t work anymore!”

The human shoved his hands into his pockets and looked ashamed and furious at the same time. “I wasn’t …” Stiles thought about what he was going to say. “Yes, Dad, I’ll play nicer.”

“It’s not about that!” 

Stiles looked up, questioningly. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He scoffed. Jackson seethed as Stiles scoffed at him. 

“Are you so … do you care so little that you don’t get it? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care about you. One outburst with the addition of claws, one little burst of speed that Scott or I can’t match, and I get to watch you bleed to death from a torn-out throat!” 

Stiles placed one hand on Jackson chest and pushed him, ineffectually, but Jackson allowed himself to take a step back. “I get it. I get it. Skinny, defenseless …”

“Stop.” Jackson commanded. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you, you’re the one who’s mocking me!” Stiles protested.

“I care for you! It’s not wrong or stupid to not want you to get hurt!”

This brought Stiles up short. There was that creeping wonder in the corner of his eyes when he realized that there was the possibility that Jackson was being sincere. Doubt filed in directly after, washing it away. “Sure you care —”

Jackson grabbed Stiles and kissed him. It was part supernatural strength and speed that kept Stiles from avoiding it, and part surprise. It was a kiss like a lightning bolt. Stiles stumbled back when he released him.

“Wow, okay, but —”

Again, he lunged forward and kissed Stiles again. It was just as passionate as the first. Stiles’ face turned even redder and his eyes grew wide. 

“Are you trying —?”

Another kiss. Jackson liked it. He liked this a lot. It was funny, and hot, and messy, and he hoped Stiles would still trying to keep talking. 

“Let me talk —!” 

Jackson did not let him talk. This time he slid his hand up his shirt and ran his fingers over the bones in Stiles’ spine. He held him close.

“Jackson —!” 

Jackson didn’t say anything, but continued to hold Stiles against him. Stiles began kissing him back, giving up the fight to talk. Jackson walked backward until he was leaning against Coach’s desk and had Stiles standing between his legs. After a while, they stopped kissing, but they were still breathing heavily.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked, smoothing Stiles’ shirt form where he had rumpled it. 

“That was entirely not fair at all.” 

“Not fair?”

“It isn’t. If I can’t talk, what good am I?” Stiles was smiling though. He wasn’t tense anymore, though Jackson knew it would return. There was a game tonight, after all, and he would be worried like all good friends would be. “Unless you’re going to do that every time I try to say something.”

“Thinking about it. I like peace and quiet.”

“I’ll peace-and-quiet you.”

“Yes. You will.” Jackson tried to sound as sincere as possible.

“Oh my fucking God. When did you turn into this big bag of mush?” 

“I could smack you around a little if you want me to be tougher.”

“No. Kiss me again.”

Jackson was happy to oblige. 

Out in the main locker room, Jackson was suddenly aware of Scott and Liam. They weren’t talking anymore, but they hadn’t left. He wondered if they had been listening, but he did not have to wonder for long.

“Should we … should we interrupt them?” Liam asked gingerly. 

“I think that if I don’t tell Stiles what you told me, he’ll try to smack me around, but I don’t really want to interrupt what they’re dong.”

“Are they really making out in Coach’s office?”

“They wouldn’t be the first, Liam. Coach may seem a little odd, but he keeps to a really rigid schedule.” Scott chuckled. “Jackson, after you two are done, tell Stiles to find me.”

Jackson broke his present kiss. “Will do.”

“What?” A slightly dazed Stiles asked, running a hand through Jackson’s hair. “Will do what?”

“Talking to Scott.”

“Oh, okay.” Stiles was about to go back to the fun when he suddenly stiffened. “They were … they were listening?”

“Werewolves, Stiles.”

Stiles looked stricken and then burst into laughter. “Whatever will Liam think of us?”

Jackson let Stiles go. “He’ll think I have good taste.” He clucked his tongue. "Now, let's focus. we've got a scrimmage to win."


	16. I.E.D. (Part 3: In Mexico, We Just Call This a Standoff)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson doesn't seem to have everything under as much control as he thought he did. Oh, and some vicious little freshman tries to kill Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode borrows dialogue from the episode _I.E.D._
> 
> I've also changed my section separators because some people have said their browsers don't show them. Sorry for the inconvenience.

The parking lot had begun to fill up with the cars of spectators by the time Danny finally arrived. The rest of Danny’s team were already on the field doing their pre-game warm-ups. It was the same with Jackson’s team. It’s where he should be as co-captain, but Jackson wanted to see Danny. Jackson hadn’t called him or texted him to make sure Danny was coming, but Jackson hadn’t have any reason to think that Danny wouldn’t show. 

It began to look like he wasn’t going to, because Danny certainly should have arrived fifteen minutes ago. When the familiar car pulled up and Danny got out, minutes from being late, Jackson sighed. It’d have to be a short conversation; Danny still had to get dressed and attend the pre-game meeting with his coach.

Jackson decided that it was best to not beat around the bush. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

Danny slammed the door of his car a little too hard. “I don’t have time to talk right now, Jackson.”

“Oh. I see.”

The emphasis Jackson put on those three words were just enough to make Danny stop in his tracks. Danny had always blown off Jackson’s irritable demands with a shrug. But, he had always listened, had always gave Jackson time, even if he had ignored everything else, because Danny understood that Jackson had never really needed agreement. He had needed reassurance. But tonight, tension played across Danny’s shoulders, because he didn’t want to give reassurance and, strangely enough, Jackson didn’t want to receive it. 

“I don’t even know why I came tonight.” Danny didn’t turn to look at Jackson as he got his bag from the back of the card. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway.”

“You don’t know that. I’ve heard Devenford’s pretty good.”

“Our starting lineup isn’t composed of werewolves.”

“Oh.” Jackson shifted his lower jaw back and forth. “So that’s what this is about.”

“Yes, that’s what this is about.” Danny’s voice was the most bitter that Jackson had ever heard it.

“No. Nope, sorry. I’m not going to let you get away with that bullshit. That is so not what this is about.” Jackson walked up and took Danny by the shoulder and spun him around. “If you think I’m supposed to believe you’re upset that you’re going to lose a lacrosse game, you really have changed. You never thought I was that gullible before.”

“No.” Danny sighed. 

“No what?”

“You’re not gullible.”

Jackson lifted his hands off Danny’s shoulders. “It’s a scrimmage, so I suddenly don’t care if I make you late, and my team won’t care if I’m late. This is about that phone call, isn’t it?” He turned and walked toward the high school without looking back to see if Danny was following him. Danny would always follow him.

Only one sophomore was still in the locker room. Jackson pointed at bench-warmer and then pointed at the door. “Tell Coach I’m on my way. Captain stuff.”

Danny closed the door behind the fleeing sophomore. 

Jackson leaned up against the bank of lockers and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can start your explanation at any time.”

“Sure, I’ll explain. It’s about all of this shit.” Danny sat down on bench heavily, dropping his bag to the ground. “It’s about my life being overtaken by things —”

“Beyond your control?”

Danny seemed confused as if he hadn’t expected Jackson to get it so quickly. “Exactly. I didn’t dump Ethan because I didn’t like him. I liked him a lot. I didn’t transfer to Devenford because I hated my friends here. I did those things because I had a goal.” 

“You’re making it sound like you were training for something.” Jackson joked.

“In a way, it was! I wanted the strength and the skills to force my life to make sense, so my life resembles the life of almost everyone else on this planet. I wanted it to be clear that I’m not one of …” Danny’s teeth snapped shut on the word he was about to say.

“You’re not one of … what? Us?” 

Danny studied the floor intently as if it might have the answers he needed. Jackson pushed himself off of the lockers and sat down on the same bench. He thought about being kind, about putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and telling him that wanting a normal life was perfectly and he shouldn’t feel bad about wanting it, but that would be a lie.

“You _are_ one of us, Danny.”

The silence between them thickened until it threatened to choke them both. This silence could smother their conversation, until one or both of them got up, walked out, and went to play the now meaningless game. This silence could be broken by a torrent of verbal violence where emotions were given form and shape and the ability to cause pain. Either alternative could end the friendship they had both vowed to resurrect, that they both said they wanted. 

Danny reined his anger in and only let it show in his posture and in his tone of voice. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means what it means. You’re in it, just like each one of us. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to be. Lydia didn’t know but she was born this way. Scott was brutally dragged into it by a madman. Stiles forced his way in out of loyalty. I bulldozed my way in out of ignorance. Liam found himself an unhappy accident.”

“And me?”

“You were a stratagem in a war.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” 

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better.” Jackson’s words came out harshly. “I was trying to tell you the truth.”

“So, we’re telling the truth now?”

“If you’ve got a truth you want to tell, then by all means, Danny.”

“You like it.”

“I like what?”

“You love being supernatural. It doesn’t matter how long you were a killer lizard, that was just a setback. You love what you are now.”

Jackson stared at him. He couldn’t quite grasp the point that Danny was trying to make.

“You were the big man on campus, Jackson. You were the top of the food chain. And you were never content, ever. And me? I was happy just being on the winning team with you. I was happy being your friend, but I could see it. You were unhappy.” 

“Yeah. That’s not a surprise.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were rich, loved, successful, and it wasn’t enough. So when McCall stole the slightest bit of your spotlight, you lost your fucking mind.” 

Jackson shook his head. He understood the words but not the meaning. He had admitted his failings before, to himself, to others, and to Danny. He couldn’t see the point of going through it _again._

“My friendship wasn’t enough.”

Oh. “You want an apology?” 

“I want you to understand where I’m coming from! Because you’ve infected me!” 

Jackson’s jaw dropped in surprise and incomprehension. 

Danny stood up and started to pace. “I was happy and now I’m … now I’m not. I had a good friend, I met a wonderful boy, and this shit … this shit you love so much took it all away from me. Being your friend, being in love with Ethan, in the end it means death and madness, and I’m scared. I shouldn’t be scared to love someone!”

“Well that sounds like a you-problem.”

“Fuck you!”

Danny went to leave and Jackson was there, faster than any human could move, and stopped him. “Do you think I didn’t try to curl up in a ball and make everything that happened to me go away? What exactly do you think my goal was in London? Do you think I’m still not tempted to do it even now? A couple of nights ago, I saw a decapitated werewolf. There’s a list out there with my name on it offering eight million dollars for my death. I am tempted to run every day, but I won’t give in. I can’t avoid the supernatural, I can’t hate the supernatural, because I _am_ supernatural. One hundred and twenty-five percent of my problems back when you were _happy_ …” He wished he could have prevented the venom from entering his voice, but he couldn’t. “When you were happy, I hated myself. Now I don’t, even with all the blood on my hands. I won’t apologize for that.”

His friend pulled back. “You said I was one of you.”

“You are. You know the truth. You said it yourself, you love me — don’t deny it now — you love Ethan. You can’t touch that world, our world, and not become part of it. There’s only one way out for you, now.” 

“And that is?”

“Never talk to me again. Don’t think about Ethan. Pretend you hate Scott, and Stiles, and Lydia.” Jackson walked until he was looking Danny straight in the eyes. “Do that, play this game tonight, and go home and it’ll all fade like a bad dream, but only, _only_ if you are perfectly disciplined. I’ve seen you when you set your mind to something, Danny. You can do it.”

Danny set his jaw mulishly, matching Jackson’s glare with his own. But Jackson could have heard the wheels turning in his mind as his friend thought about what he said. Danny wasn’t dumb; he must have thought about this before tonight. But it was different when you thought about something when no one else could hear you and when someone said it to your face.

“I don’t think I want to do that.”

“Then you’re one of _us._ ” Jackson stressed. “Stop bitching about it. I meant what I said that I don’t resent you for not wanting to get too involved, but you are involved as long as you want to be my friend. It’s not fair for you to hold it against me or anyone that you can’t have everything you want. Look, I’m not asking you to run with the pack, I’m not asking you to help us with the things we have to do, but I am asking you to stop getting upset because you want things to be how they can’t be. That ship has sailed.”

Danny’s eyes widened as Jackson saw the words register.

“You expected me to say something different? Danny, you’ve known me since I was six.” 

“No. I guess I didn’t.” 

Jackson couldn't tell if what he said was getting through, but he didn't have any time left. “Then get dressed. We’ve got to kick your asses.”

******

Jackson sat on the bench with Kira between him Scott. She was worried about the assassins — which was a good to worry about — and worried about playing in her first lacrosse game — which was not so good. Scott was being endearingly supportive, all while explaining the need to make sure that they actually caught the assassin red-handed. Jackson was no expert on body language, but Scott’s posture and the look in his eyes telegraphed that, yeah, he was totally stuck on her. Scott had never looked at Jackson like that, and Jackson was actually relieved by that fact. He’d have to punch the alpha if he started doing it, and punching your alpha was never a good thing.

“Don’t worry about screwing up,” Jackson reassured her. “It’s your first game. You’re supposed to screw up. Coach uses these scrimmages to learn exactly where he has to work with you. The only thing that could possibly hurt your chances for playing again is if you end up being the assassin’s target.”

Kira looked at him with wide eyes. Scott gave him a disapproving glare. “Not funny, Jackson.”

“A little humor never hurt anyone.”

“Did you screw up in your first scrimmage?” Kira asked Jackson, looking for reassurance.

“Of course not!” He patted Kira on the head. “But hey, we can’t all be me.”

Scott reached over and tapped him on the back of the head. It was one-hundred percent in fun, and Jackson didn’t even bristle about it. With a tiny bit of surprise, he realized he had, at some point, started to treat Scott as a friend. That was something he had not seen coming, but there were worse fates. Kira giggled at his joke, and right then, he decided he liked her as well. 

It was time to get on the field, and Scott raced off to try to convince Coach not to play Liam. Jackson walked out on the field with Kira. 

“No, seriously. The best thing to do is remember what we did in practice, listen to Coach, and have fun.” 

“Really?”

“The real enemy tonight are your voices.” Jackson whispered to her.

“My … voices.” Kira’s eyes got real bag. Jackson could have slapped himself. Alexandrina had told him about the trouble young kitsune had with integrating their fox spirit with their normal lives.

“Not that voice. The voice telling you that you’re going to suck. The voice telling you that you shouldn’t be out here. The voice telling you that everyone has made a tremendous mistake in trusting you to play well. Those voices.”

Kira nodded and smiled shyly. “They’re pretty loud.”

“You’ll do fine, and if not, your boyfriend’s co-captain!” 

Kira laughed out loud at that, and Jackson felt like he had accomplished something. 

After his futile effort to get Liam benched, Scott ran up to them with Stiles trailing behind. Scott had his determined face on. 

“Why do I think this is going to end badly?” Kira asked.

“Because it usually does.”

Jackson rolled his eyes at Stiles’ pessimism. 

“Jackson, you and Kira should keep an eye on Garrett, but don’t get too close,” Scott ordered casually. “I’ll watch out for Liam.”

This was his first game as a werewolf; it was a good move for Scott to keep near him. The other players on both teams were now on the field; you could feel the atmosphere change.

“Yeah. I’m just going to try to play lacrosse. All right.” 

Jackson looked over his shoulder at Stiles. Kira and Scott had broken apart to get into position while Stiles walked unsurely to his. Jackson took a few steps to intercept him. “Hey. You’ll be fine.”

Stiles looked shocked, as he looked shocked every time Jackson expressed concern over him. Jackson silently promised himself he would keep doing it until Stiles got annoyed with the gesture.

“It’s not me … you know what, never mind.”

“Stiles.” When the boy tried to walk away, Jackson called out again. “Stiles!” 

“What?”

Jackson went over and put the forehead of his helmet to Stiles’. “Scott just assumed that you’ll have his back, as you always have. He knows you will. He trusts you will. But you have to promise me that you won’t try to take down an assassin by yourself.”

“I can fight --”

“You can fight a professional assassin with a hidden knife in hand-to-hand? If that’s true, maybe you shouldn’t hide things like that from the rest of us.”

Stiles worked his jaw. “You’re right. You’re right.”

“Usually.”

They split off then and Jackson got into his spot. Scott was taking the first face-off, so that had Jackson as the left attacker and Liam as the right attacker. It was going to get messy for Devenford really quick. 

He felt invigorated. He hadn’t got to play many games with his enhanced abilities. He wanted to strut his stuff. Danny was watching him from the other goal. It was a scrimmage, so Danny could cope. Jackson wanted to let loose.

It seemed like he was going to get his chance. He heard Scott’s plea for the Talbot fellow to hold back, and he heard the rejection. It was understandable. The scrimmage was the best time to do some stomping without endangering their season. But Jackson hadn’t been bluffing earlier. He’d allow a few checks, but if they went overboard he’d show them exactly how unpleasant he could be.

The game was actually fairly enjoyable, if you ignored the tension between the Devenford players and Liam and the weirdness of Coach benching Kira for a spectacular shot. Yeah, scrimmages are supposed to focus on teamwork but it was her first game and her first big play. Coach had never done anything like that for the three years Jackson had played for him. 

He trotted up to Coach on the sidelines. 

“What is it, Whittemore?”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Kira?”

“I thought she was McCall’s girlfriend, not yours.”

“Nothing to do with it — it was her first game and she got a little excited.”

Coach turned on him with a gleam in his eyes. “What’s with captains thinking they’re coaches? I know what I’m doing. And what are you doing?” 

“I’m suggesting —”

“Zip it, Whittemore, and … Oh, crap!” Before he could finish, Jackson heard the collision on the field and the snap of bone. “Back off!” Coach sprinted onto the field. It looked like a three-way pile-up between Talbot, Liam … and Garrett. Jackson rushed onto the field.

******

Jackson led the way down the darkened hallway towards the locker room. To his distant ears, the game was still in full swing, but that didn’t matter. After Stiles had let Scott know that Brett Talbot was on the list and Scott had raced off to protect the whatever-he-was, he had come and found Jackson. Together, they had raced off the field in order to give their alpha backup.

Jackson registered it in the back of his mind. Always before, when Scott was in trouble, Stiles never hesitated. He ran after him, regardless of the danger to himself, regardless of the consequences of his actions. Only this time, he had come to Jackson first. He had brought Jackson with him.

That was significant.

He resolved to think about that later, but right now he sprinted down the hall. He smelled burning flesh, and he saw the unconscious or slain paramedic. He skidded around the corner only to see a furious, red-eyed Scott slam a freshman girl up against the wall. Jackson had seen Scott raving and yelling, but his anger had been tinged with panic. He had never seen Scott show this type of incandescent rage, baring his teeth like a threatening wolf.

To be honest? It was hot. 

Jackson swallowed down his interest long enough to choke out the words. “You okay?”

“Fine,” gritted Scott. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Here!” Stiles stopped at the doorway, taking in the situation. A sour look spread across his features. 

“I think you should call your Dad.”

Scott tossed the thermo-wire to the ground and knelt to check Violet’s — an assassin’s! — pulse. It must have satisfied him because he got up and went over to Brett, who was lying on the floor in a state of disorientation.

Jackson grinned out of the corner of his mouth at Stiles. “When did they change the freshman curriculum?”

Stiles didn’t laugh back. He kicked the wire farther away from the unconscious Violet. He studied the room. “She changed targets, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Jackson looked around the room. “Garrett stabbed Brett so he’d be taken off the field, and she was waiting for him.” 

Scott nodded, but he didn’t talk about how she had tried to kill him. He was far more focused on Brett, trying to get him to respond. “How are you? Do you know where you are?” 

Brett was glassy-eyed and terrified, and it seemed that talking was very difficult for him. “She said … poisoned. Money. Worth a lot of money.” The Devenford attacker could barely be coherent. Every once in a while he thrashed with pain.

Stiles had stepped quietly out of the locker room and was talking with his father on the telephone.

Jackson watched as Scott tried to keep Brett calm, but nothing was helping much. Jackson was just going to suggest knocking the whatever-he-was out when Scott, instinctually, flashed his eyes at Brett, who responded with a flash of Beta yellow. That was extraordinarily strange and not a little frightening — Brett hadn’t smelled like a werewolf at all.

“It’s gotta be some form of wolf’s bane,” Scott decided.

“Well, Garrett would know, but I doubt he stuck around since Violet should have been free by now if she was successful.” Jackson guessed; it was a reasonable guess. He had watched a lot of spy movies.

“Jackson, I need you and Stiles to take Brett to the clinic. Doc will know how to treat the wolf’s bane if anyone does.”

“What about you?”

“I have to stay here. I don’t want Stiles or you connected to this if we can swing it. My dad was at the game, and I bet if he sees police here, he’s going to get involved.”

Jackson didn’t want to meet Rafael McCall unless he had to. Everyone had told him that he was a huge dick but a pretty good agent. An unfortunately dangerous combination.

Together, Jackson and Stiles manhandled Brett into Stiles’ jeep. Jackson liked Stiles, he really did, but he did not like his Powder-Blue Death Trap on Wheels at all. It was nearly twice as old as he was, and if Stiles maintained it at all, it was a miracle.

Stiles pulled out of the parking lot just before his father’s deputies arrived in force. They had made it in time. This good news did not seem to make Stiles happy at all. In fact, he was somber and quiet and … angry. Jackson could smell it.

“All right, what’s wrong?”

“The drive to the clinic isn’t long enough for that conversation.” The sarcasm told him that either Stiles was too upset to actually want to deal with what was bothering him or that Stiles didn’t consider what was bothering him to be worth talking about. Neither was a good sign.

“Then let’s get started.”

Stiles handed him his phone. “First, text Deaton and Derek to meet us there.”

Jackson did as he was asked. It was another delaying tactic, but it was also necessary. Stiles was good at marrying the two together. “Done. Spill it.”

Stiles glared at him and then turned back to the road. Just when Jackson thought he was going to have to say something again, Stiles sighed. “You know, Scott always knows when to leave things alone.”

“Not Scott.”

“Nope, you’re not. Do you want the supernatural insecurity first or the average teenage boy insecurity?”

“Since we have a poisoned werewolf in the back seat, let’s go with the former.”

Stiles took a moment to start out the window into the darkened city. “There was part of me that wanted to suggest that you or Scott snap Violet’s neck like a twig.”

Jackson blinked. “Okay.”

“She’s a danger. Not because she could kill us — she took her shot and missed, but because she’s going to be arrested by the police, and Scott’s dad is probably going to take her into federal custody, and then she might make a plea deal with them. She could tell them everything about the supernatural! And that’s not the only scenario where … it would simply be better for all of us if she was dead.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You said you were insecure.”

“I wanted to kill a helpless girl!”

“You wanted to kill an assassin that wants to kill most of your friends and just tried to cut your best friend’s head off. It’s a natural thing.”

Stiles sighed in irritation. “You don’t get it. I wasn’t angry. I was … “ 

“Calculating.”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill her?” 

Stiles grimaced at him in the are-you-stupid sort of way.

“You didn’t kill her. You didn’t try to get us to kill her. You thought about it, and then you didn’t do it. You really need to stop blaming yourself for crimes you don’t actually commit. Trust me I know the difference between killing people and not killing people.”

“Scott wouldn’t even think of killing her.”

“You’re not Scott, either.”

Stiles voice twisted itself into a bitter knot. “Well, that’s obvious.”

“Whoa. What’s that about?”

White-knuckled, Stiles made a turn. “Nothing.”

“Try again.”

“I saw the way you looked at him. You wanted to jump him right there.”

Jackson hesitated for just a moment. “Yeah, did you see him? You’re telling me you didn’t?” 

Stiles didn’t answer. He just drove through the shadows of the night; his heartbeat was erratic and his hands clenched the steering wheel. Jackson could smell the stress that poured off his body.

“You understand the difference between what he and I do and what you and I are?” 

Stiles remained silent. 

“You understand right?”

“Oh, look, there’s the clinic!”

They did pull into the clinic. Derek and Deaton seemed to be there already, so they were out of time. They got out to get Brett into the clinic, but before they did, Jackson snagged Stiles by the shoulder. “We’re not done talking about this.” Jackson wasn’t going to let jealousy ruin the good thing that was beginning to happen.

But they had other things to take care of first.


	17. Orphaned (Part 1: Maybe More Than a Little)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson tackles a few problems: Brett's poisoning, Peter's duplicity, Derek's powerlessness, and Stiles' jealousy. It's not easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Periodic reminder that this is a homage to Teen Wolf intended solely for entertainment.

Brett Talbot started seizing the moment Stiles and Jackson got him through the back door of the clinic. First, the werewolf lost what little mental coherency he had exhibited in the jeep, and then his extremities beginning to shake. Deaton, in his this-is-a-medical-emergency tone, insisted that they had to get him up on the table, while the older man quickly began to check his vitals. Derek used a pair of scissors to cut the lacrosse jersey off of him, while the veterinarian examined his reaction. The tremors rapidly became more and more violent. 

“Hold him down!” Deaton ordered. Yellow foam began pouring out of Brett’s mouth. It was profoundly disgusting, but not as disturbing as the full-body convulsions that accompanied it.

Derek pinned the werewolf’s left shoulder and Stiles tried to do the same to his right shoulder. Jackson grappled with Brett’s flailing legs. Brett was just a beta, so between two werewolves and Stiles, there shouldn’t have been any problem holding him down, yet there was. 

“What the hell is wrong with this kid?” Stiles demanded. He was still upset about the conversation in the car, and Talbot’s spasms were horrifying on their own.

Raising his voice, Deaton explained the poisoning going on and the weird-as-shit method of treatment, which shouldn’t be a problem but Brett was slowly breaking free. Stiles yelled at Derek to apply some werewolf strength because the human’s grip was slipping, and Derek snapped back about not being the only person who was that strong. The exchange drew Jackson’s attention to Derek, so when Brett broke free of Derek’s and Stiles’ hold, he also broke free of Jackson’s because he was stunned by an observation.

Derek didn’t have werewolf strength. That shouldn’t be happening.

So shocked was he by this, Jackson lost track of Brett for a moment. He didn’t really care that much about the other werewolf, but he would do his duty as Scott’s pack. Jackson was about to tackle him when the boy was punched square in the jaw by Peter Hale, who had somehow managed to sneak up on both him and Derek.

Jackson felt something settle in the pit of his stomach. Stiles and Scott had assured him that Peter was still weakened by his resurrection, but that punch had been harder than Jackson could do on a good day. It was nearly as strong as he had been as a kanima, and while not as strong as an alpha’s punch, it wasn’t anything to dismiss. 

Derek noticed it as well, and from the look on his face, he was as displeased as Jackson was. They didn’t have any time to talk about it because Brett started muttering to himself. Deaton identified the mantra and Stiles recognized it as Buddhist. 

“Satomi,” Peter declared, his face somewhere between a sneer and surprise. 

Before Jackson can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, he catches Stiles face out of the corner of his eye. It’s a look of anger, hatred, and pain, quickly replaced by confusion. He goes down, ostensibly to lift Brett up and put him back on the table, but he whispers to Stiles — yeah, it’s stupid, Peter and Derek are werewolves — but he doesn’t want to draw attention. “You okay?”

“Flashback,” Stiles admitted. They might be on the verge of a fight, but Stiles had to understand that Jackson wouldn’t stop caring for him. “Not mine. Apparently, Satomi and it were old friends, by which I mean it hated her.”

“I had no idea,” Derek was saying to Peter, “that she was even in the area. Brett must be part of her pack.”

“Neither did I, but I guess that our good doctor did.”

Deaton did not deny it. “I am friends with Satomi. She taught me many things, and I did indeed know she was still living in Beacon County.”

Stiles nearly rocketed to his feet. “And you didn’t think that this was something that you wanted to share with us?”

“No, I did not.”

The tension of the room suddenly ratcheted into the stratosphere. Stiles was already tense, now he was furious. Derek was unreadable, and Peter was smug.

“You didn’t? What the fuck? Why? Another alpha might have been useful at any time during the last goddamn twelve months?”

Deaton let Stiles’ shouts pass over him. “I had my reasons, which you would perceive if you gave some thought to it, Stiles.”

“Emissaries are advisors, Stiles, and they can’t advise if they aren’t trusted,” Derek said gently. “They have to be careful with the information they share. Satomi may be one of the oldest werewolves in existence, and she didn’t get that way without learning a few things. She values her privacy, and she has a right to be safe.”

“Who could …” Stiles began in a highly aggrieved tone but then trailed off into silence. Stiles had probably figured it out just as Jackson had. When exactly would have been a good time to let the pack know that Satomi was in the area? During the war with the Argents? During the threat of the power-mad Alpha Pack? During the appearance of an ancient evil who held a significant grudge against her? “I’m sorry.”

“I think we’ve all been under stress, Stiles. Thank you for your apology.”

Peter snorted in derision. “If all the excitement is over, I’ll be going.” 

Deaton nodded. “He should be fine in a few hours. I’ll make sure that Satomi knows he’s safe.”

The ex-alpha walked out, leaving Derek, Deaton and Stiles behind, but Jackson didn’t let him get out of his sight. He followed Peter closely as the werewolf headed toward a bright-red FT-86. Peter beeped the car door open but he didn’t immediately get in.

“Can I help you with something, Jackson?”

Jackson nodded. “Sure.”

They stared at each other. Jackson wasn’t going to reveal their connection, not yet. Unlike the others, he hadn’t dealt at all with the supposedly-reformed Peter. His only interactions with his biological father had been when Peter chased them around the school, when Peter had sent Derek to kill him, and when he had helped others burn Peter to death. Coupled with the stories he had heard about Peter in Europe, he was going to have to get to know Peter much better before he shared anything important.

“And?” 

“I heard you're weak.”

“Coming back from the dead will do that to you. You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Jackson shrugged. “I don’t feel any weaker, but I wasn’t aware of what was happening while I was the kanima.” 

Peter’s face did that little twist where he was about to say something cutting, but then he paused. “But you do now.” 

“No.” 

“That’s a lie.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe the idea that you were ‘weakened’ by your resurrection is a lie. Maybe it isn’t.”

Peter carefully shut the car door and wandered over to stand just outside of claw range. “Far be it from me to assign nefarious purpose to a teenager’s whiny intransigence, but it sounds like you’re accusing me of something. If you are, you might want to actually make it clear, for those of us who don’t speak spoiled rich boy.”

“You’re rich.”

“Rich, yes. Spoiled, no. My parents had very strict ideas about being a proper werewolf, as did my sister. They didn’t believe in indulging their kids and/or siblings.”

“Oh, I see. So a months-long trip to Europe was part of your education.”

Immediately, Jackson recognized his mistake. Peter suddenly grew cagey if not downright hostile. “You heard about that, did you?” 

“Your name did come up. Did Derek tell you who mentored me in London?” Jackson was compounding his first mistake, but he couldn’t help it. Peter was riling him up by breathing. “Alexandrina Blakeslee.”

Peter recalculated, a slow smile spreading across his face which held no warmth. “You had a grand old time in London, didn’t you?”

“I learned a few things.” Jackson responded back with faux-innocence. 

Before their game could get more interesting, Stiles came out of the clinic and headed toward his jeep. With a wave, Jackson left Peter, feeling the older wolf’s eyes on his back, and intercepted Stiles.

“You’re still here?” 

“Stiles, you drove me here.”

“Right.” Stiles gave him a feeble attempt at a deflecting smile. “I can drop you off back at the school.”

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

Jackson nodded. “Choose somewhere you’ll be comfortable. We’ve got some talking to do.”

“Do we have to?”

“We have to.”

******

In the end, Stiles decided that he would prefer to have the conversation at his house. The Sheriff was pulling an all-nighter, processing and interrogating Violet with Agent McCall’s help, so they would have the house all to themselves. It wasn’t the first time Jackson had been in the Stilinski house, but it was the first time they had been alone there.

Stiles’ room was pretty simple: a desk, a thrown-together bed, and a trio of mismatched chairs. Dirty clothes were piled in the general vicinity of a hamper, and the remains of a night spent researching de-aging magic had been shoved into a corner. Dominating the middle of the room was a transparent Plexiglas board on which Stiles had taped clippings, mug shots, crime scene photographs, and various other bits that related to the Dead Pool. It was very impressive looking.

“Does this actually help?”

“No, Jackson, I just keep it there because it sets the mood. Of course it helps.”

Jackson snorted. “Tell me how.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully as he sat down on the bed. “Okay. I guess … our minds tend to put things together linearly. We go from A to B to C. It’s like telling a story about the world. That’s wonderful, but we also tend to fill in the details of those stories with what we want or what we fear, rather than what’s actually there, and that’s not good when you don’t know the ending.” He slid off his shoes and socks. “Everything I learn about something going on, I put on this board.”

“So it’s no longer a story. It’s a picture.”

“Yeah. Same stuff, different point of view. It’s really helpful for someone like me. I tend to tell more than one story at a time, especially if I didn’t take my Adderall.”

Jackson studied the board for another minute and then came to sit down next to Stiles. It was deliberately close; intimately close. “So.”

“So?”

“Before we get started, I think there’s something I want to do first.” 

Stiles looked up. “First? You were the one who …”

Stiles trailed off as Jackson reached out and took him by the chin. The first kiss was a gentle one, meant to reassure, meant to invite. The invitation was duly accepted and it led to a pretty serious make-out session. They went from sitting on the edge of the bed to lying on it, clothes rumpled, faces flushed. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but why did you want to do that first?”

“I wanted to give you something to think about if this went poorly.”

“You think it’s going to suck?”

Jackson hummed. “I’m not good at this.” 

“At what?”

“Fighting. Arguing. Talking about serious shit.”

Stiles glanced away as if he was still trying to avoid it. “You seem to do a pretty good job to me. You’ve almost swept me off my feet. I’m feeling better than I have since … since before the sacrifice. You’ve handled coming back here so well. Everyone says so.”

“I’m good at talking about things when I’m … when I’m sure I have the answers. When I can say ‘You’re wrong, idiot, listen to me.’ But that isn’t going to be — it can’t be — that type of talk.”

“We could just not talk about it?”

“Stiles.”

“It’s just me, okay? It’s just the way I am.” Stiles sighed and tried to sit up, to rise from the bed, but Jackson took him by the arm and made him stay. “I feel what I feel.”

“Well, maybe you can explain it to me, because right now I’m not sure what you feel. You knew what was going on with me and Scott before I even took you on our first date. You knew what Scott asked me to do for you.”

Stiles didn’t look him in the eye. “Yeah. He asked you to fix me.”

“He asked me to help you. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” 

Jackson squashed down irritation. This is what he had meant about not being good at these types of talks. “You know there is. No one thought that you were broken. They thought you were going through a rough patch.”

“A … rough … patch.”

“Are you going to pick apart everything I say?”

Stiles shrugged belligerently. 

“Then pick apart this. Scott asked me to help you as a price of me joining the pack because he thought that since we both had similar experiences, I could talk to you about things that you weren’t able to talk about with him. And he was right. What he didn’t realize was that the same things that he thought would let me help you help me just as much.”

“They do?”

“You think that it’s easy for me to be in this town? Try to remember, I killed nine people under the command of a psychopathic freak. I’ll never forget what that felt like. I shouldn’t, but that means being back here isn’t easy.”

“And I killed twenty-six.”

Jackson snarled. “It’s not a competition, Stiles! This is going to sound terrible, but I don’t care about almost all of those people you killed while possessed. Do you know why? Because I know that all the memories of them do is hurt you. Do you hate me because I killed those people?”

“No!” Stiles finally caught on. “So what you’re trying to say is that you’re _comfortable_ with me?”

“Yes, sort of. I’m saying that I can be with you and I don’t have to pretend that what happened didn’t happen. I don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t bother me. And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Stiles smiled gently to himself. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

“But what I do with Scott? It’s not by choice; it’s necessary. So it’s pretty frustrating that you’re jealous _now_ , when you knew about it before you decided to go out with me.”

“I understand why you have to. You’re focusing on an alpha-beta relationship in order to reinforce your identity as a werewolf. You’ve got a form of borderline personality disorder that interacts with your shape shifting. Your … sessions … with Scott are a form of supernatural cognitive behavioral therapy.”

Jackson turned in surprise at Stiles. The other boy shrugged innocently.

“I went into a research spiral with Lydia, but neither of us are actually psychologists.” He blew on his nails. “I wanted to understand what I was getting into.”

“Alexandra said something similar, and she has access to a lot of knowledgeable people, including psychologist trained to work with the supernatural. So what’s the problem?” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You don’t get it?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“I have this guy who says he likes me. He acts like he likes me. But he goes and sleeps with — and keeps sleeping with — my best friend who, objectively, is hotter, nicer, and less damaged than I am. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable when sometimes it bothers me that I’m not everything the person who claims to want to be my boyfriend needs.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

“Wow? You think I’m being crazy?”

“No. I think you don’t understand me at all.”

Stiles rolled over and scowled at him.

“I don’t want to need you, Stiles.”

Silence lay between them. Stiles’ scowl became a frown, ringed with hurt. 

“You still don’t get it,” Jackson sighed. “I don’t want you to be the person that keeps me from reverting to the kanima; I have Scott for that. I don’t want you to be my anchor; that’s … those are my parents.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“I don’t need you for anything. I _want_ you.” 

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up on the bed. Jackson wasn’t getting through to him, and he knew he was terrible at this, so he sat up with him. “I want you for you. I want to talk to you. I want to make out with you. I want to sleep with you. Not need. I need a lot of things, and it’s no longer optional. I _need_ help from my alpha. I _need_ an anchor. I don’t have any choice about them; I have a choice about whether I go out with you.”

Stiles huffed out. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes!”

“What happens when you don’t want me anymore?”

Jackson’s jaw dropped open. “What happens when an assassin kills me?”

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Are you now?”

“No!”

“How will you stop it? Will you be with me twenty-four seven?”

“We’ll find a way to shut down the Dead Pool.” Stiles said crossly. “We just —”

Jackson snapped in frustration. “That wasn’t my point. My point is you’re worried about something that might not happen.”

“But it might happen.”

“What do you want, Stiles?” He was getting angry. He always got angry in situations like this. He had done it with Lydia, when they were dating. He took a deep breath and commanded himself to cool it.

“I want you to stop fucking Scott.”

Jackson ground his teeth, as he searched for the best way to answer that. But there was no best way, there was just a whole bunch of ways to say it badly. “No.”

Stiles snorted. 

“I don’t want to stop. Yeah, I don’t have to fuck him to get that connection that I need, but I also enjoy it. I enjoy not having to hold back. I’ve explained to you that it’s different than what I have with you, and if you’re so damn smart, you should have realized that I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, you need him, but you want … this.” Stiles gestured to himself.

“Yes, I do.”

“Bullshit.”

Jackson stood up. “You think you’re a detective …” He realized he went too far. “You’re a detective, okay? The facts are that I’m with you because I choose to be. I make the time I must spend with Scott, enjoyable. It’s very different.”

“And if Scott wasn’t with Kira?”

“God. Damn. It. Scott’s my alpha, because I need one, and we’re becoming friends, because he’s a good guy. But what fucking Twilight Zone episode would we have to be living in to make you think I’d want to have a relationship with him? Seriously? We’re not compatible in any way.”

Stiles’ face worked over that. “And we are?”

“Well, I thought so until tonight.” That was too harsh. Jackson clenched his fist; old habits were dying hard. “Scott and I don’t think the same. I’m not interested in helping anyone beyond the people I care about, and I care about power and being powerful. I care about how I can use that power to protect the things that are important to me.”

“And I’m the same.”

“Tell me you’re not.” Jackson challenged. 

“So you want me because we’re both damaged killers hungry for power.”

Jackson threw up his hands. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but … yeah. I want someone to look at me the way you look at me, while knowing everything about me. Scott could never be you.” 

Stiles looked across the room. Jackson didn’t have to follow his eyes to understand that he was looking at a framed picture of Scott and him. “No. He doesn’t understand what I am. He’s _never understood._ And, on other hand, I don't understand him. But you, yeah, you I do get. You’re still Jackson, an arrogant, selfish jerk-wad. But you’re more than that, and I know it now. So that’s enough?”

“Stiles.” Jackson got back on the bed, kneeling, and took Stiles’ chin in his hand. “That’s everything. You’re the thing that I’m missing.” 

Stiles yanked his chin out of Jackson’s hand. “I don’t know if I can do this. You can tell me these … these words all the time, but I still feel what I feel. Can’t you find another way?”

“Maybe, but I’m not going to. I spent most of life hobbled by my insecurities. I’m getting better, and I like getting better. So I won’t allow myself to be hobbled by _your_ insecurities. That’s the only part of you that I don’t want.”

Jackson watched Stiles as he digested this. Yeah, he could have done that better, but at least he hadn’t called Stiles names. In his fights with Lydia, he had been … well … frankly … brutal. He had said cruel things, and she had said cruel things back. It hadn’t helped. It had poisoned what good things there had been between them. He promised himself that he wasn’t going to do that with Stiles. 

They were fighting. Jackson felt irritable and his pulse raced, and Stiles sat, compacted in on himself, smelling miserable and angry. But couples fight, especially over things this important. 

Stiles finally spoke. “I think I want to be alone for a while.”

Jackson bit his tongue. “Okay.” He got up and left the room, and then the house. 

 

******

Stiles wasn’t in school the next day. He responded to Jackson’s text with a brief message that he was spending the day with Lydia, but he didn’t elaborate. Jackson couldn’t get a read on the tone of the text, as it was too short. He never put much faith in his ability to interpret a text without emoticons, anyway.

It was going to suck if Stiles didn’t want to see him anymore, but Jackson was too confident that he was right to back down. Or too proud. Or too stubborn. Or a combination of all three. Yet, he was going to stick to his guns. He had spoken, for once in his life, completely honestly to someone he cared about. It’s what he needed to do to be better.

He was settling down into his fourth-period class when he heard the whisper. 

“Malia.”

It startled him, because Malia wasn’t in his class. He looked around, but no one else near him had heard it. Jackson opened up his book to cover his surprise. 

“Malia.”

This time, he definitely recognized it as Derek’s voice, but pitched in a way that only someone with superior hearing could notice. Malia wasn’t in this class; she’d be in Ms. Fleming’s math class by this point. So he focused on Derek’s words. The former alpha must have been standing on the staircase just down the hall.

Jackson idly wondered why Derek needed his cousin, not that Malia knew they were cousins. 

Malia wondered that as well when she went out to meet Derek. “What are you doing here?”

“Brett’s still out of it. I need to find his pack and warn them about the Dead Pool.”

Jackson stuck out his lower lip. That made sense.

“So what do you need me for?”

“I know a little something about this pack. They have a kind of secret meeting place in the woods. No one’s spent more time in the woods of Beacon Hills than you.”

Jackson frowned. While that was technically true, Derek had grown up in the woods. The Hale House was placed strategically in the heart of the Preserve. Derek must have played there with his brothers and sisters. He must have known about Satomi’s pack. While Malia would be good at it, Derek should have been able to locate them on his own. 

Unless he was having trouble with his senses the same way he was having trouble with his strength and healing. Jackson would corner Derek about it. 

Jackson paused after he made this decision, and he allowed a small smile to play across his face. One of the things that his London therapist had told him while he had been busy pretending she was useless was that it was important to _recognize improvement._ People tended to notice things more when things went wrong — disasters, mistakes, sins. When things were going right, when things were good, people tended not to notice those things happening as much. Which led people who were trying to get better to think that they weren’t.

He could have been jealous about Derek going to Malia rather than him, even though Malia, in this situation, was a better person to ask for help. He didn’t know anything about the woods surrounding them. He could have been worried about Derek’s weakness and what it meant to him, but he was simply worried for Derek. He could have been so obsessed over his fight with Stiles, that he could have missed Derek’s and Malia’s whole exchange.

But he hadn’t, and these were good things. He may have screwed things up with Stiles, and he may have been rude to eavesdrop, but it was another step. Another good thing.


	18. Orphaned (Part 2: You're Not So Big)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson decides to aggressively question some of Scott's strategic decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialog from the show.

After Coach had informed the three of them that Liam had skipped his class, Scott assured Liam’s friend Mason that they would find Liam. Jackson saw right through the false confidence that Scott was projecting. It worked, because the freshman promised to text if he saw his friend and headed back to his class. The door to Coach’s office was now shut, and both werewolves were alone in the hallway. Jackson couldn’t miss the tension that was building in Scott’s soldiers, and his nose couldn’t mistake the stress that the alpha was feeling. Scott was edging toward panic.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Scott took in a sharp breath. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t _not_ believe it. He’s been a werewolf for like, what, two weeks? How could any assassin possibly know about him?”

“How could they possibly know about any of us?” 

Jackson didn’t want to say this out loud, but he could definitely think of two people who would know about Kira and Liam and would have the capability and motivation to start the Dead Pool. Chris Argent was the leader of the remains of his family, and regardless of his father’s treachery, he took that seriously. The news that his sister was now a monstrous creature of the night so soon after the death of his daughter may have pushed him to the point where he decided to purge Beacon Hills. The other possibility was Peter Hale. He didn’t see a reason for his biological father to plot the death of all supernatural creatures in his town, but he could become so desperate to get his money back that he was willing to sell them information.

Jackson wasn’t going to bring these suspicions to Scott at this time, especially since Scott had his concern-rapidly-transforming-into-despair look on his face.

“I’m only saying that maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to think —”

The alpha’s phone cut him off. When Scott pulled it out, Jackson could see Liam’s name on the screen, but neither of them relaxed. Coincidences never turned out to be anything good.

“Liam?” Scott’s voice was a mixture of dread and hope.

One of the perks of supernatural hearing was that Jackson didn’t have to listen to only one side of a phone conversation any more. It may have been impolite, but given what was going on, Jackson couldn’t have cared less about being rude.

“Sounds like you already know the answer to that Scott.”

Garrett. From his position behind Scott, Jackson watched the muscles in the alpha’s neck pull taut. He felt his own breath get caught down below his breastbone.

“Where is he?” 

“Come on. Like I’m actually going to tell you that.”

So it was going to be extortion. It didn’t surprise Jackson in the slightest. Professional assassins, contrary to how movies and television shows tried to glorify them, usually didn’t follow a code of behavior. This dick was part of a team that had killed two innocent werewolves and had tried to kill two more, including his alpha.

“I’ll give you the money.”

Jackson felt the breath whoosh out of his lungs. Money? What money? Scott heard the noise and turned around to face Jackson. Immediately, Scott looked … ashamed. What was going on?

“Yeah, you will. But that’s not going to get you Liam back. You’re going to have to put more effort into it than that.”

Okay, now the kid was just being an asshole. Jackson was going to punch him square in his stupid face for the Bond-villain dramatics. Scott met Jackson’s eyes as he was talking to the assassin.

“What do you want?”

“I want the money and Violet. Or you never see Liam again.” 

Garrett then demanded that Scott meet him outside in the bus parking lot before hanging up. Scott opened his mouth to say something to Jackson, but no words came out. He couldn’t bring himself to confess what he had done.

“So, we’re going to go and rip this buttwipe’s fingernails out of his hands until he tells us where Liam is, right?”

“Jackson …” Scott took a deep breath. “I took a bag of cash out of Garrett’s locker after Violet was arrested yesterday. I took it home.”

“McCall, I don’t care.” Jackson rolled his eyes in irritation. “This asshole planned to murder us. For money. He bushwhacked some guy at a party and stabbed a girl to death in a school parking lot. Nicking his payoff is a good move. I’m not going to lose any sleep over you keeping any of it for yourself.”

“He has Liam …” Scott’s voice did that strange waver when he felt hopeless.

“Jesus Christ, McCall, don’t make me punch you. You’re just the type of doorknob who would take the blame for something that the bad guys did. He would have gone after Liam to get you to free Violet whether you pocketed his stash or not. So let’s say we go out to the busses and work that little shitlord over until he tells us where Liam is.”

“Liam could be on the last third of the list.”

“Even if he is, Garrett’s not going to kill Liam until he has Violet back, especially since he has to prove that Liam’s dead.”

Scott seemed torn. He looked in the direction of the buses, hesitation showing plainly on his face.

“Standing here doesn’t get your beta back, Scott.” Jackson hissed at him. 

“What if he won’t tell us?”

“Then we track Liam down. Like you did with Lydia.”

“That was different. With Lydia, she was on foot and I knew, without a doubt, where the trail started. And even then, I got sidetracked by some random omega.”

“You were new at it back then.”

Scott decided he didn’t want to speak about this in the hallway anymore so he pushed Jackson into the empty locker room with a little more force than was necessary. “It’s too big of a risk. I didn’t succeed in finding the Nemeton even when I had been there before. I didn’t succeed in finding Stiles when he disappeared at all. I can’t risk it with Liam with so many variables.”

“Tell me about these … variables.” Jackson had never tracked anything as a werewolf. 

“I can’t be sure where Liam was taken. Liam and Mason ran that path through the woods every other day. I might miss the exact spot where he was snagged, and if I do, then I’m not following a day-old trail, I’m following a three day-old trail that has nothing to do with anything. Even if I did find the exact spot, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to follow the path. Maybe, maybe, if Garrett stashed him some place in the Preserve. But what if he put him in a truck and drove him to some abandoned warehouse in Chico? Chico’s three times as big as Beacon Hills and twenty minutes away. What if he put him in that truck and took him another hour down the interstate? Do you know how impossible it is to follow someone’s scent when they’re riding in an air-conditioned vehicle on the interstate? Garrett knew enough to buy rare wolf’s bane; I can’t take the risk that he knows how to defeat werewolf tracking.”

“So tracking him by scent is out. We interrogate Garrett …”

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to meet with Garrett and try to figure out a way to rescue Liam.”

“You’re not going alone.” 

“Jackson —”

“McCall!” Jackson was incredibly irritated now. What did this idiot think he was doing? “If you don’t want to take me, take someone else.”

Scott suddenly realized what he had been implying. “It’s not that, Jackson. You know I trust you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Mmhm. Then I’ll repeat myself and keep repeating myself until we graduate — you aren’t going alone.”

“Malia’s off with Derek finding Satomi’s pack. Stiles and Lydia are trying to get the third cipher key. Kira had to go with her mother out of town for something family related.”

Jackson exaggeratedly touched his chest with both hands.

“This could be dangerous —”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, _McCall!_ ”

Scott’s eyes blazed forth their fiery red. “This isn’t a debate. I’m going alone.” He turned and walked away. His tone, his demeanor, all indicated that he wasn’t going to change his mind. 

So Jackson stepped forward and took his legs out from under him. Scott fell backwards on the concrete of the locker room, his head cracking hard on the concrete. If Scott hadn’t been a werewolf, Jackson would have been concerned. “No, it isn’t a debate, it’s a fight.” He straddled Scott, trying to pin him down.

It probably wasn’t his best move. Scott’s eyes were still unfocused from the blow to the back of his head, but he shot out a hand, gripped Jackson by the waist, and tossed him into the lockers. It was loud, but people tended to avoid the locker rooms when they heard loud noises, and while Coach was in his office, he was sick, and while you couldn’t predict what coach would do on good days, he’d probably sit this one out.

The alpha hadn’t used his full strength, and Jackson was easily back on his feet as Scott tried to push himself up with one hand on the bench. Jackson, grimacing, grabbed that arm, pulled it away and bounced Scott’s face on the wooden bench itself. With his other hand, he pushed Scott back down on the ground.

Scott was stronger than him, and he certainly had more experience fighting for his life, but in this case, he was vulnerable to ambushes. Scott did trust him, after all. He didn’t expected Jackson to attack him like this, as the alpha’s slowed reactions demonstrated.

“Why?” Scott choked out, blood pouring from his nose.

“Twenty!” Face punch. “Three!” Another face punch. “Million!” A third face punch. “Dollars!” A final face punch. It was a good thing that Scott could heal; those had to hurt.

Jackson put one knee on Scott’s chest to keep him pinned and on the floor. The key to overcoming greater strength and speed was positioning. He bent down and grabbed Scott by his hoodie.

“That’s how much you’re worth. So, what do you do? You stand here like a great big dumbass and tell me that I have to let you go meet with a professional assassin by yourself. Are you fucking aware of how much money that is?”

Scott shook his head in denial. Jackson didn’t think the alpha meant he didn’t understand how much money that was. He was rejecting Jackson’s demands. 

Before he could strike Scott again, the coach’s office door swung up. Wheezing and sickly, Coach bellowed: “What the hell is going on out here?”

Jackson stood up, and he turned to offer the man a smile and block him from seeing Scott’s wrecked face. “McCall and I were having a disagreement about strategy.”

“Well, keep it down. There’s a sick man here!” The door to the office slammed shut.

When Jackson looked back, Scott had managed to scoot himself up against the lockers and had smeared the blood over his face. “What did you do that for?”

“Don’t make me hit you again, Scott.” Jackson went to his locker and got out a towel. “You know exactly what that was for. You being a dumb-shit martyr.”

“I’m … I’m not.”

Jackson threw the towel in Scott’s face. 

“You don’t understand, Jackson.”

“No, I think I understand you pretty well. I think you’re on the same guilt-powered suicide train that Derek rode almost to his own destruction. You bit Liam, so you’ve got to save him, because you got him into this. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“But I did.”

“Don’t you get it that we need you?” 

Scott looked up at him in surprise.

“We need you, and you need us. That’s the only way this works, and you don’t have a choice about that.”

Half-way through wiping the blood off his face, Scott threw the towel across the aisle. “God, I hate this bullshit.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. 

“I want to know why I’m supposed to …” Scott trailed off. “I guess it might seem ungrateful to some people. I’m strong, faster, healthier. But I don’t enjoy any of it, because my life has become a fucking roller coaster. I can’t go left. I can’t go right. I can’t back up or even slow down. I either have to keep holding on by my fingernails until the next big thing comes my way or I have to jump off. When you say I don’t have a choice … I’ve never had a choice.”

“You could have —”

“What? I could have let Derek murder you? I could have let Mrs. Yukimura execute Stiles? I could have Liam fall from the roof? Those aren’t choices; those would have been surrenders.” Scott scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Now, I have to go save Liam. _I have to._ But it’s going to be dangerous, and I’m not going to drag you along with me.”

“No one forces me to do anything, Scott. You know that, obviously; you led us to Mexico.”

“And how well did that turn out? We were poisoned. I was tortured. Kira and Lydia were traumatized. And Derek wasn’t even there! Those people were the Calaveras, and they have a code that they treat like law. They should have been predictable, and I still botched it. Garrett’s a contract killer. All these assassins are killers without a single ounce of restraint. I should have known that he’d go after one of us to get Violet back. I should have been prepared.”

“Hey. So you aren’t perfect; cry me a river. I said before, that’s how this works. Most of the packs I saw in London wouldn’t have done any better in this situation.” Jackson very carefully took up the discarded towel and came back. “Do you really think any of us would be _safer_ if you weren’t our alpha?”

Scott didn’t say anything, but it was obvious to Jackson that he did actually think that.

“You’re so stupid. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m glad you’re our alpha. Even if you’re dumb as rocks because you think that the answer to all the danger that’s coming our way is for you to face it alone.”

“Maybe …”

“We don’t need a fucking martyr. I don’t. Liam sure as hell doesn’t. None of us do. We need someone who reminds us that we’re not victims, that we can make a difference in this hell pit of a city. That we’re not alone, and we don’t deserve to be alone. Like it or not, that’s you.”

“And when I lead the next person to their death?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “You’ll tell yourself the same thing you told yourself the last time. The only thing worse than you leading us is what would have happened if you hadn’t.” He extended his hand to pull Scott up.

“Did you have to hit me?”

“Yes. I had to hit you. Now let’s go hit Garrett.”

“No.” The alpha shook his head; he took a deep breath and steadied himself. “We’re not going to lead off with that. You’ll follow my lead.”

Scott made sure all the blood is off his face, and then they walked out toward the bus yard. Scott walked in front, and Jackson trailed after; he was content to do so. He was going to follow Scott’s lead up until the moment Garrett tried something fishy, and then he was going to break any number of the pretty little freshman’s extremities.

Garrett was waiting for them between the school buses, as he said he would. “What is he doing here?”

Scott opened his mouth, but Jackson got there first. Yes, it wasn’t exactly following Scott’s lead, but Jackson wasn’t much of a follower. “If you think, Twinkle-toes, that his pack is going to let Scott meet with you alone, you’re out of your gourd.”

“Jackson.” Scott reproved gently. “He’s here because he’s here. What do you want? Do you want me to go to Stilinski? Because I can. Or I can go to my father, he’s the FBI agent in charge of the case.”

“Do you think I want you going anywhere near someone with a badge? I didn’t get help from a werewolf because I want you to _talk_ to someone.”

“Oh, my God, you’re an idiot.” Jackson shook his head in disbelief.

“Maybe, Scott, you should make your beta watch his mouth.”

“Or what, Sandra Dee, you’re going to walk away? The only thing you got over us is Liam, and you’re obviously not confident of your ability to get Violet back on your own. So if you walk away from us, she gets a one-way trip to Dublin for the rest of her life. So, don’t overplay your hand, Aryan Youth.”

“Jackson, please.” Scott soothed. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“They’re going to put her in a car and drive her to the Dublin Penitentiary.” Garrett tapped Scott on the chest with his crosse. “You’re not going to let that happen. You’re going to stop it.”

“You want me to stop a car?” Scott’s voice was disbelieving.

“Yes. I stabbed Liam with a poisoned blade.” Garrett revealed the hidden blade in the crosse. “You know what’s going to happen to him when it reaches the heart. You’ll come with me. Asshole here isn’t coming.”

“How are you going to stop me?”

Jackson and Garrett locked gazes. Scott was thinking, hard and quickly. 

“Okay. This is how it’s going to be …” Scott began.

“What makes you think that you’re —” 

“Because Jackson’s right. I need you for Liam, you need me for Violet, so you’re open to negotiation. First, Jackson going to drive me to the police station, and I’m going to find out the details of the transport. Then I’ll go with you, and I’ll stop the car. But Jackson here will be following us in his own car. The moment I stop the transport, you’ll tell Jackson Liam’s location.” 

Garrett’s composure cracked a little. “Or what?”

“I’m a werewolf, you figure it out.”

“What my alpha means is he’ll take that little pig sticker and shove it up your ass so far you’ll be tasting the wolf’s bane,” Jackson interjected. Scott was sincere in his threats but not particularly creative. “And I’ll add this promise: you try to pull a double-cross to collect more blood money, I’ll eat your lungs.”

Garrett stared at them, hatred oozing from his features, and finally, with a sneer, hid his poisoned blade once again. “Fair enough.”

Jackson slid into the Porsche. Scott slid into the passenger seat. The moment they pulled out of the school parking lot, Garrett’s behemoth SUV behind them, Scott deflated.

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“Did what?”

“I’m playing games with Liam’s life.”

Jackson glanced over him. “You played it tough with a professional killer who has every reason to kill Liam, me, _and_ you, once he gets what he wants. By not being a pushover, you’ve given him something that will make him think twice.”

Scott suddenly rested his elbows on his knees and put his head down on top of them. “I hate this.”

There really wasn’t anything to say to comfort Scott, though. It was what it was. There was also nothing wrong with Scott hating it. Jackson certainly didn’t want the responsibility. 

They didn’t talk through the rest of the drive. Garrett stop following him a few blocks short of the sheriff’s station. It only made sense. He didn’t want to get arrested. Casually, Jackson texted the other members of the pack. The only one who answered was Kira, who was in San Francisco with her mother and bored out of her skull. Jackson didn’t mention what was going on; there was nothing she could do, and he didn’t want to make her too anxious.

Scott came back looking like he had just ate a hand grenade. He sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, calling Garrett on Liam’s phone. “I have the time and the route. Meet us at the MacDonald’s on Fourth Street.” He hung up without waiting for an answer.

“Bad news?”

“Yeah. My father and Sheriff Stilinski are the ones escorting Violet to Dublin.”

“Oh, _fuck_. How are you going to do this?”

“I don’t know.” Scott gnawed on his lip. “My only hope is that the sheriff figures out what’s going on and plays along.”

Jackson considered that. Stiles had inherited a lot of things from his father and the ability to think quickly on his feet when the situation called for it is one of them. “And your dad?”

“I’m just going to have to hope that he doesn’t recognize me when I’m shifted. Let’s get this over with.” 

Jackson wondered if the bad news would ever stop coming.

It turned out that Scott didn’t have to worry about his father recognizing him or Garrett betraying him. Instead, he had to worry about fucking Kate Argent and her pair of bone-clad berserkers. They had attacked the car, kidnapped Violet, and wounded both the Sheriff and Rafael McCall. On the bright side, they had butchered that little blond shithead, but one of them had also driven some sort of horn-knife-weapon eight inches into Scott’s side. 

Jackson freaked the fuck out as he saw the berserkers run off into the night. Their mission must have been to kill Garrett, because they hadn’t made sure the Sheriff was dead. But Scott was on the ground, and he wasn’t moving, and Jackson was a little more freaked out by that than he thought he would be.

Others might be surprised, but Jackson had never actually killed anyone consciously before; he’d always been under someone else’s control. Of course, he’d been present for it, but even when he remembered the events in his dreams, there was a certain distance. Garrett’s lifeless eyes were glassy; they didn’t look real. Scott wasn’t moving, blood welling up around the weapon. Jackson could hear the alpha’s shallow breathing and his faint heartbeat.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Jackson!” The sheriff was attempting to get his attention with a hoarse whisper-shout. 

Turning slowly, Jackson looked at him. 

“I’ve called the ambulance and my deputies, they’ll be here soon. You have to get Scott out of here.” Noah’s voice softened; he must have remembered that he didn’t have to speak that loud. “Call Argent.”

“I don’t … I don’t have Argent’s number.” 

“Scott does. Go and quickly. Do it.”

Jackson was shaken out of his shock. Heedless of the blood, he scooped up Scott and ran for the Porsche. For the briefest of moments, he thought uncharitably about Scott getting blood on the seats, but then he pushed the thought away. He strapped the alpha in and was about to run over to the driver’s side when he remembered his other instructions. He pulled Scott’s phone out and dialed the number.

“Argent.” The hunter’s voice was as cold and professional as ever.

“Hey, your crazy sister and her goons attacked everybody. We need you here.”

There was only a moment pause. “Okay, where are you?”

“We’re … we’re on the highway.” Jackson looked around for a landmark. He could smell Scott’s blood seeping out the wound. “We’re a mile south of town on Clark Road.” 

“Who’s there with you? Is Kate there now?”

“No. Kate’s left. Scott’s hurt; they hurt him bad. Garrett’s dead. Agent McCall and Sheriff Stilinski are hurt as well.”

“Have the police been called?” His voice was all business. Jackson wanted to scream at him. 

“Listen to me, Jackson. Leave Garrett where he is, leave the Sheriff and Agent McCall where they are, but drive Scott to Deaton’s. Leave nothing there that’ll lead back to you or Scott.” 

Jackson nodded, even though he was on the phone. 

“Say you understand, Jackson!” 

“Yes, I understand.”

“Leave as quickly as you can.” The hunter hung up without further words. One day Jackson would be brave enough to punch him.

Jackson looked over at Scott. The alpha was still unconscious, so he wasn’t going to be much help. Jackson tried to calm his breathing. He’d told Scott that having the pack there was a good thing, so he had to make it a good thing. Cleaning up was a good thing, and Jackson looked around as fast as he could. Once he drove away, there couldn’t be any trace that he or Scott had been there.

Oh. Wait. Liam’s phone. Any investigator worth their salt would wonder why Liam Dunbar’s phone was in the hands of a professional assassin, and if they checked the call log …

Jackson left Scott in the car and ran to Garrett’s dead body. He was still unnerved by it. Part of him said that his anxiety was a good thing; he wasn’t yet inured to death. The other part of him was glad that Scott wasn’t awake to see him waver like this. 

It’s easy to say things that make you sound tough. It’s easy to act like you’re a super cool bad ass, especially when you’re a ‘killer.’ It’s another thing to see the body who not an hour ago was walking around and talking. Garrett was a prick, but he was a human being. Jackson had little time left, but he still hesitated. He finally had to force himself to go through Garret’s pockets and snag Liam’s phone.

Then he got in the car and drove off, faster than was probably legal. He had to get Scott to the clinic. But the memory of Garrett’s dead eyes haunted him all the way there.


	19. Orphaned (Part 3: But That's Not All You Want)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson helps the pack rescue Liam. Then he decides it's time for him to step up to the plate.

If you had told Jackson Whittemore in February of last year that he would be carrying Scott McCall bridal-style into the examination room of the Beacon Hills Animal Hospital that next February, he would have wondered what you were smoking. It had only been a few days past a year since he had set a mad alpha — who was actually his biological father — on fire with the help of Lydia’s Molotov cocktails. Yet, carrying Scott that way was exactly what he was doing, and it wasn’t the least bit romantic. In fact, Jackson’s concern was beginning to edge over into fear. Scott hadn’t bled too much as far as he could tell while they were driving here, but the alpha had remained unconscious. The bone weapon was deep within his abdomen, and Jackson had been too cautious to pull it out. 

Scott could be dying and that rattled him more than it should. Jackson nervously listened for the alpha’s heart, and he relaxed when he could hear its slow and steady beat. Yet why hadn’t Scott woken up yet?

“Doctor Deaton?” Jackson managed to keep the tremor out of his voice. It sounded silly for him to use the man’s title and last name, but Jackson didn’t know his first name.

“Come on in, Jackson.” The veterinarian turned placidly from where he was standing with his back to the door. “What’s the emergency? Mr. Argent was rather —” 

There was only the slightest pause when Deaton took in what was happening, he then turned and pointed to the examination table. “Put him there, please.” With a quick stride, he grabbed some sort of emergency surgery kit on hand and moved to the where Jackson was placing the unconscious werewolf on the table.

“You need to tell me what happened.” 

Jackson took a deep, steadying breath and repeated what he had witnessed. Deaton didn’t look at him as he spoke, as he was too busy checking Scott over. “I didn’t see the strike, but it’s one of the bone weapons that Kate’s berserkers carry. What’s wrong with him?”

“I believe he’s gone into hemorrhagic shock. The weapon has most likely hit several important arteries.” Even while speaking terrible news in that same soothing voice, the doctor checked Scott’s vitals. He went to a table and began readying an injection.

“What’s that? Is he going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry, Jackson. You got him here in time.” Deaton nodded in encouragement and put the needle into Scott’s neck. “A normal human, of course, would be dead by now, and I’d have really significant concerns about a beta or an omega. But an alpha? With these injections and some time, his body should be able to compensate for the significant blood loss.”

“There … there wasn’t that much blood.”

“Most of the bleeding is internal.” Deaton carefully injected another hypodermic. Werewolves needed a larger dosages of medicine than human beings. “I want to give these a few minutes to work before I try to remove the weapon.” 

“What is it?”

“Some sort of horn or claw, but it is worked bone. I’m not sure what animal it is from.” Deaton experimentally put his hand on the handle. “I think it’s wedged into one of his ribs. It’s going to hurt coming out.”

“Those berserkers are brutal.” 

“They are human beings empowered by animal spirits. They aren’t animals, so they kill for the pleasure of killing; they aren’t human, so they don’t exhibit mercy or restraint.”

“I don’t know …” Jackson trailed off. 

“Hmmm?” Deaton was still bent over Scott, but he had enough awareness to be listening.

“He ran toward Garrett, right between two of them. That’s why he got this hurt.”

“Of course he would.”

“It was fucking stupid. That asshole was a throat-cutting killer.”

Deaton looked up as he went over to his counter to throw away the used needles. “Did you expect something different from him?”

“No. That doesn’t mean I’d ever do it.” 

“I would wager that Scott would never expect you to.” Deaton replied; at Jackson’s startled grunt, the veterinarian continued. “Scott rarely makes demands as an alpha.” 

“No he doesn’t, does he?” Deaton was an Emissary, Jackson reasoned, so he should be giving proper advice. “Shouldn’t he?”

Deaton went to his sink and cleaned his hands per habit. “I think that you’ll find Scott prefers to ask rather than demand, and lead by example rather than by manifesto. But that’s not as rare as it might seem to be. The vast majority of packs operate as families rather than paramilitary units. Even packs made up of bitten wolves, if they survive, eventually become families of born wolves.” 

“Just like real wolves in the wild.”

“Even the Blakeslee pack operates like a family, though more of an aristocratic flavor than one you would see in Beacon Hills.”

“You knew … you know Alpha Blakeslee?”

“Oh, no. When I learned that you had joined the Hellfire Club via her invitation, I investigated.”

Jackson paled. “Uh … I …”

“I am an Emissary, not a judge.” Deaton said reassuringly. “Nor will I reveal your membership to anyone but Scott, and that is only if he asks me about it.”

“I’m just surprised that you kept an eye on me.”

“I’m here to advise. The best advice comes from a position of knowledge.” Both of them looked up as they heard another car pull into the back. Their conversation ended, they waited patiently until Chris Argent walked in. 

“How’s he look, Doctor?”

“He’s going to be fine. I’ll want to wait another five or so minutes to give the woundwort time to work.” 

Jackson suddenly felt uncomfortable, mostly due to the last conversation he had with Argent. He hadn’t forgotten it, and he hadn’t dismissed it. He just didn’t think it would be useful to dwell on it, so he didn’t, but that didn’t mean the memory vanished. 

As if he could tell what Jackson was thinking, the hunter turned to him. “I tried to track Kate and the berserkers, but I lost them. I may need your help.”

“You. Need my help. I thought you despised —”

“And I still think it, but I’m not a fool to let my feelings get in the way of stopping someone like my sister.” Chris was dismissive. “You were stupid and reckless and your stupidity and reckless got people killed. My sister is not ignorant and she’s not a child. She chose this, and I’m going to stop her.” 

“Well. Thanks.” Jackson managed all the sarcasm he could muster.

“Chris? Jackson? Would you come over here and help me remove the weapon? I think that it’s been enough time. Between the herbs and his own healing, it should be safe.” 

It hadn’t been entirely five minutes, but Jackson thought maybe Deaton wanted to break the tension between him and Chris. He hadn’t taken a step when Scott stirred on the table and opened his eyes.

Deaton looked rueful. “Hey there. I was actually hoping you would be out for a few more minutes.”

**********

Once the alpha was back on his feet, Chris had driven Scott back to a spot near the scene of the accident. Not too close, of course, so they wouldn’t alert the police still working the crime scene, but close enough that Scott could find a starting point for his scent tracking. Jackson had followed him with his own car.

The plan was for Scott to track the berserkers down on foot, with Chris and Jackson following in their vehicles. Once they ascertained Violet’s location, they would deal with Kate and the berserkers. It was slow but steady going; as fast as Scott was, it wasn’t as fast as a car. During a short break, Scott had asked Jackson to find Stiles and Lydia. 

“Why?”

Scott swallowed and Jackson could see his throat working. “I want … I want to see if Lydia has a feeling about Liam. Try to find out without Stiles and Lydia figuring out why, because I don’t want them at this berserker fight. Stiles can read me too well even over the phone for me to do it, so can you try to do that for me?”

“I can.” Jackson didn’t want Stiles or Lydia anywhere near berserkers as much as Scott. He also understood why he needed to do it in person: so he could make sure they stayed put. 

Jackson soon arrived at Stiles’ house, because that was where Lydia told him to go when he texted her. He told himself he wasn’t the least bit nervous to see Stiles again so soon after their argument. He had made what he wanted out of the relationship clear, and Stiles was simply going to have to deal with it. If Stiles couldn’t deal with it, if he was going to choose to be mad, then it would be Stiles’ problem and not his.

He wished he felt as confident as he sounded in his own head.

If he had to admit it to himself, Jackson was a little worried that Stiles would end their relationship, that Stiles’ jealousy would erode something that had been both satisfying and fun. It was a bright spot in their lives, but if it had to end, Jackson would just have to take it like a man.

Which meant that he had to walk into a room where his ex-girlfriend and his possibly, maybe ex-boyfriend working and get things done. It was a daunting prospect.

Stiles initial reaction from where he was hovering over Lydia at his desk was not positive. “How’d you get in here?”

“Your front door is open.”

“Hanging open.” Stiles grimaced in disbelief. “Swinging in the breeze.”

“Unlocked. Don’t be a bitch, Stiles.”

“Please, no sexist slurs.” Lydia rubbed her temple with one finger. “This is hard enough without having to listen to you two having marital problems.”

Jackson and Stiles said the same thing together. “We’re not married.”

Stiles was quicker on the uptake, though. “Jinx!”

Jackson ignored the juvenile game, because that way he hadn’t lost. “What’re you working on, Lyds?”

Lydia pointed at the screen. “We’re still trying to figure out the third cipher key, since Meredith refused to tell us what it was. We figured out that the first two were people we knew who died. Now we’ve got the unenviable task of …” She trailed off and looked up at Jackson.

Stiles’ went on. “Putting in all the names of people whom we know have died. We’re up to Jessica Bartlett …” Stiles’ mouth fell open as he realized why Lydia had stopped and why Jackson could become particularly uncomfortable. “Sorry.”

“No.” Jackson pretended it didn’t bother him at all, but it was like a knife in his chest. “You should keep going.” 

Lydia looked at Jackson with sympathy and then looked at Stiles. Stiles looked at Lydia and then at Jackson and then anywhere else. Stiles closed his mouth with a click. Things hung awkwardly for a moment, and then Stiles barreled on. “We’ll move on to Darach sacrifices.”

“You know all of them?” Lydia asked.

“Yeah. Kept a list. Wait a moment.” Stiles went to his closet and started digging around. 

“Why are you here, Jackson?” Lydia prodded. Jackson imagined she was trying to get his mind off the past. Or off the Dead Pool. Or off the fight with Stiles. 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. I don’t really know how your banshee stuff works, but … well, how does it work? I’ve heard stories from other people but nothing really definite.”

“Do you think I know?” Lydia chuckled sardonically. “That’s half the problem. I don’t know. So now we’re playing guessing games.”

From the closet, Stiles protested. “It’s not a guessing game. It’s deduction.”

Lydia rolled her eyes fondly. “Is there a reason you needed to know?”

Jackson set his jaw. Scott had made it clear earlier that it would be too easy Stiles and Lydia distracted from their tasks. If he told them what was going on, that Liam was in danger and that Scott, the Sheriff, and Mr. McCall had been hurt, that Scott and Chris Argent were tracking down Kate’s squad, he was 115 percent sure that they would certainly be distracted.

“Yes, there is. You don’t feel any … urge to go somewhere?” 

Lydia narrowed eyes, always far too smart to fall for deflection. “Is someone possibly in danger and you came to me to see if they might be dead or dying?”

“Yes.”

Stiles barreled out of the closet clutching the piece of paper. “Who?” 

“I’m not supposed to … interrupt what you’re doing.”

Lydia stood up from the desk, but Stiles got right in Jackson’s face. He had failed miserably; they weren’t going to let him keep them in the dark.

“Scott told you not to tell us, didn’t he?”

Jackson didn’t like feeling cornered or attacked. He was pretty much cornered now. “You need to figure out the third cipher key. That’s very important. I agree with him.” 

“I’m going to slap the shit out of him,” Stiles growled. 

Lydia turned around and sat back down. “They’re both right. We need to know who else is in danger. That’s our top priority. I guess that Scott is working on this, as we speak?”

“Yeah.”

“Lydia!” Stiles sounded betrayed. “We need to know!”

“We need to figure out the last key more. I’m not feeling anything particular Jackson, but I’ll let you know if I do.” 

Stiles waved the paper like a flag. “No. I want to _know._ You can tell me right now, Jackson, or we can leave right now and you can take me back to Scott like a good pet lizard.”

Jackson sniffed. So that was the way Stiles wanted to play it. “I’ll tell you, Stiles, only if you promise to stay here and help Lydia. You can keep your promises, can’t you?”

Stiles locked eyes with him and Jackson glared right back.

“I promise.”

“Garrett kidnapped Liam to force Scott to help free Violet.” 

“Are you freaking kidding me? We have to go find him! Liam could be on the list. Why the fuck didn’t Scott call us?”

Lydia answered for Jackson as she primly held out her hand for the list of names. “It’s called delegating and resource management, Stiles. Every member of the pack doesn’t have to be involved in every project.”

Stiles crossed his arms in irritation. Jackson let Lydia’s announcement pass as the truth; it may have been petty, but he didn’t want to give Stiles something to feel right about. Or maybe he just didn’t want Stiles to feel worse. 

“So you came here to see if Lydia felt that Liam was dying.”

 _Or Scott or your father or Scott’s father._ Jackson wasn’t going to say that out loud. He just nodded. 

“I don’t feel anything ..." Lydia tried to sound helpful. “But I'm not absolutely sure, when I try to trigger my power, if it actually works.”

Jackson squinted at her. 

“When I sense a death, there’s almost always a physical reaction: a scream, a trance in which I do things like automatic writing or driving to public swimming pools. The only times I actually felt something without a physical reaction was when Peter asked me how I felt at the loft before the Alpha Pack attack, when Scott had me handle those bullet shells, or when Araya tried to …”

Stiles was unaware of that last one and was all over her immediately. “Tried to what?”

“She asked me to tell her which of her men was going to die next.” 

Jackson shrugged. “Responding to a question is a physical reaction.”

“She’s been listening to me ask questions for about three hours, Jackson.”

“No. No, I think Jackson’s right.” Lydia hummed to herself. “I think that the action has to be relevant to the information. When I drew the tree, the Nemeton was a key to Jennifer’s plans. When Peter asked me the question in the loft, I was standing near to Ethan, one of Jennifer’s targets.”

“So,” Stiles reasoned it out. “We can trigger your powers if we ask you the right question or subject you to another proper stimulus.”

“Like Meredith with her phone calls or plucking piano strings – she was searching for the right trigger.”

“Well, if you just need Stiles to talk, that’s not going to be too much of a problem, Lyds.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” But Stiles did crack a smile.

Jackson smiled back at him, but he decided not to press it. It was a good step. It made him feel right. 

“So, I am going to ask you directly, Lydia. Do you feel anything about Liam?”

Lydia closed her eyes, listening intently. “No. I’m going to warn you that I barely know Liam. I might not hear if he’s in danger, not like I would if it were you or Stiles.”

“Okay. I’m going to go back to Scott.” Jackson turned to leave.

“Jackson!” Stiles suddenly said it loudly. Too loudly, it would seem, as he looked embarrassed.

“Yes?”

“You call us the moment you find Liam.”

Jackson smirked. “Yes, sir.”

“Jackson!”

“Yes?”

Lydia sighed at the computer. Jackson needed to get out of there, because he recognized that sigh. It was the I-am-going-to-destroy-these-idiots sigh. 

“Be careful.” Stiles didn’t look him in the eyes. 

Jackson didn’t know how to respond, immediately. Stiles must have used all his willpower to say that in front of someone else. “Of course.”

**********

It turned out that Jackson missed the big fight against Kate and her berserkers at the Argent Arms factory. From the way that Mr. Argent looked like he’d been pulled through an emotional and literal meat grinder and the grim set of Scott’s misshapen jaw, he didn’t think his presence would have changed the outcome of the battle.

He stood there looking at Violet’s blood-soaked corpse. Why kidnap her only to shred her like that? It was such a waste, but Kate Argent had been a violent psychopath while she was alive – it made sense that becoming a nagual wouldn’t make her less likely to murder people. 

Jackson tried to pretend that he couldn’t hear the despair eating at the edges of Scott’s voice as the alpha tried to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be able to find Liam before the poison reached his heart. From the depth of emotion there, Jackson knew that when they did find Liam’s body, it would break Scott into a million pieces. Not even Stiles would be able to put those pieces back together again.

That’s when Jackson decided, for once and for all, that he never wanted to be an alpha. He had enough trouble caring about himself and caring about the people he loved – his parents and Stiles – and about the people he cherished as friend – Danny, Scott, and Lydia – to take the responsibility for someone’s entire life in his hand, as an alpha did for his betas. No. It was not for him.

Jackson swallowed. Thank God, he hadn’t said it out loud, but it was true. He did love the stupid, annoying boy.

“Oh, shit.”

He turned away from the dead assassin and made his way to where Chris Argent was trying to reassure Scott that there was still time. It was nice of Mr. Argent to do, but there was no clue to Liam’s location and not even a lead to where they could get a clue. It was a cruel thought, but there wasn’t any point in holding on to a non-existent hope.

At least, it was non-existent until Liam’s howl split the air. Jackson smirked at himself. He knew the brat was going to be trouble, always trying to show him up.

Scott nearly took off running, but Chris Argent held him by the arm. “Focus on the sound. We’ll get my car.”

“No offense, Mr. Argent,” Jackson cracked. “But you look like the loser in a hobo fight. I’ll drive, Scott. My car’s faster, and I’m in far better condition.”

The Porsche was indeed faster, and Jackson didn’t particularly feel the need to pay any attention to things like speed limits or stop signs. Time was of the essence. Of course, the sound led into the Preserve, because it would figure that Garrett hadn’t stashed Liam somewhere nice.

“I’m going to have to get my suspension fixed.” Jackson grumbled.

Scott was leaning forward in his seat, head half out the window, frantic not to miss another howl. “I’ll pay for it.”

“I was joking, Scott. Sheesh.”

Scott was out of the car when the road ran out before it even came to a complete stop. Jackson followed at a more leisurely pace; he couldn’t keep up with a worried alpha, so he wouldn’t even try. By time he got to the clearing with its super-creepy Ring-like well, Scott had already pulled Liam out and was protectively cuddling him. It was disgustingly cute. 

“Do you want me to give you two some alone time?”

“Shut up, Jackson.” 

“No, seriously, Scott, we should get him to the clinic.” Jackson had seen the green gas coming out of Brett’s chest. He shuddered.

Once he herded Scott and Liam to his car, Liam began to show signs of the tremors that had plagued Brett. Scott held Liam in his lap, soothing him, as Jackson once again disregarded all the rules of automobile safety. Even so, Liam passed out on the way back.

Deaton and Mr. Argent were waiting for them when they got there. It took only a few moments for Deaton to perform the same cut on Liam. Scott was stroking the young boy’s hair. Jackson assumed that rescuing Liam would have made the alpha happy, but it seemed it had not. Scott’s mien was so intense as to be a little frightening.

“I don’t want to keep watching people die.”

Jackson moved to put his back up against the wall. He’d been sarcastic enough tonight. No need to push it. 

“I’m not sure you have much choice about that.” Mr. Argent would know, wouldn’t he? He’d started training as a hunter when he was much younger than Jackson and Scott were now, and he still had to suffer the death of numerous colleagues, his wife, and his daughter. 

“Maybe I do.” It sounded less like an observation and more like defiance.

“That’s a lot of burden to carry, Scott.” This was how real Emissaries worked; they advised without manipulation. It was a statement free of insinuation. Deaton wasn’t going to tell Scott how the veterinarian though the alpha should proceed, yet he gave a simple reminder that it was not necessarily Scott’s duty to do anything more than protect his pack.

“I don’t care.” Scott wasn’t having it, no matter how objectively given. “No one else dies like this, killed for the sake of … profit. Everyone on that list – I mean everyone — it doesn’t matter if they’re wendigos, or werewolves, or whatever. It doesn’t matter what color eyes they have. I’m gonna save everyone.”

It sounded stupid. Even more, it sounded ridiculous. Jackson stopped himself from snorting. Scott was not going to save everyone. It was an impossibility. There were millions and millions of dollars out in the open and a list with everyone’s name on it. They have no idea who is behind it or how to stop it. So why was Scott standing there, expecting anyone to believe that he can stop greed and death?

At least Scott hadn’t said _we._ Because trying to stop these people meant getting in the way of people with guns and the skill to use them. Getting in the way of people with rare poisons, thermo-cut wires, and military-grade explosives. Alpha or not, Scott didn’t have the right to make that decision for him or for Lydia or for Stiles. 

And yet.

Scott wasn’t stupid. Jackson understood that. Stupid people didn’t survive what he had survived. So the promise that Scott had just made wasn’t really a promise made with an expectation of victory. It was a promise to do something rather than sit back and accept what was happening. 

The first year he had been made captain, Coach had told him that the most important responsibility of the captain position didn’t happen when the team was winning. It happened when you were losing. The captain had to give the other players a reason to show up at practice the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, even if the season was going to be a total bust. Even if they were working hard just to get buried by other, better teams. Because if players didn’t work for the day when they did win, if they stopped believing that they could one day win … well, they never would.

 _Jackson was supposed to be co-captain._

With a significant glance and a suggestive node at the hunter, Jackson walked outside. The man followed him after a few moments.

“Scott, Stiles and the rest of the pack – except Lydia – are taking the PSATs this weekend.”

Mr. Argent narrowed his eyes. “So? And you’re not?”

“I took an equivalent test in London.” This was an outright lie. “My weekend is completely free. How’s yours?”

“I’m free as well. Why?”

Jackson turned and poked the hunter in the chest. “You and me, we’re going to find out who the Benefactor is.”


	20. Weaponized (Part 1: Always Required for Payment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the rest of the pack takes the PSATs (and have a little run-in with the flu), Jackson hatches a plan to find the Benefactor, and he brings Chris Argent along with him.

Saturday morning dawned clear and cool; the sun crawled slowly up over the horizon. Jackson had left his house twenty minutes ago with his parents still safely asleep. Honestly, most of the town was still asleep. While only a few days remained in February, the day promised to be warm and sunny. It was a shame; there were a dozen things he could be doing instead of what he had, things that any teenage boy could expect to do.

Instead, Jackson leaned against his Porsche outside an apartment building on the lower end of the scale, exactly where he told the hunter that he would be. The dingy block rotted in a less-than-affluent part of Beacon Hills, and if its parking lot became any more cracked and pitted, cars wouldn’t be able to drive on it. The Argents hadn’t lost their wealth, even if they had lost a lot of their influence, so it was mystifying that Chris would choose to live here.

It really didn’t matter. Argent could choose to live wherever Argent wanted to choose to live, as long as he helped Jackson. 

The man himself emerged promptly at seven a.m., carrying with him two paper cups of coffee. “You’re here.” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“I told you I would be here.”

The hunter shrugged nonchalantly. Jackson bit back the urge to tell him to fuck off; he didn’t need the man’s passive-aggressive bullshit. He had enough of his own.

“So, Thursday morning you told me that you had an idea on how to find the Benefactor.”

“I do.” Jackson snatched the proffered coffee from him. It was black with the right amount of sugar. How did Argent know how he took his coffee? He decided he didn’t want to know. “I do. The rest of the pack has been focused on the Benefactor’s motives. I think we need to concentrate on their method. All the assassins so far have been pretty unique as I imagine assassins go.”

The hunted nodded to indicate he was following along.

“Unless the Orphans only looked fifteen, there should be very few professional assassins available who graduated from middle school last year. And the Mute was very noticeably not human.”

Argent contradicted him with a shake of his head. “Actually, the Mute was technically human. He’s a member of a human subspecies called the astomi. While they’ve managed to evade notice by both modern historians and scientists, they were first described by Pliny the Elder during the first century of the Christian era. They’re a lot like banshees: they come from human stock, but every once in a while, inherited supernatural abilities will manifest. It’s more sporadic than banshees; some families may not even be aware that they are astomi. When a child is born with that inheritance, they’re born without a mouth, but instead they have an extremely advanced sense of smell. It’s so powerful that they can even consume scents for sustenance.”

“They eat smells?”

“Once it was all the sustenance they required, but now they have to supplement their diets in other ways.”

Jackson knew they were getting completely sidetracked, but he was quite fascinated. He hadn’t heard about them while studying with Alexandrina. “Why?”

“Literally, the Industrial Revolution. We’ve all been exposed to the consequences of mass industry, but imagine living in a world where the entire food has been contaminated by pollutants.”

Jackson made a face; he could imagine that. One of the less beneficial aspects of super senses was how some foods now tasted disgustingly chemical. Preservatives could be taste very nasty.

Argent continued without reacting to Jackson’s grimace. “Most manifested astomi are completely harmless, though they end up ostracized from human society, but some of them use their enhanced sense of smell to become trackers and assassins. The Mute had a reputation as one of the best.”

“That’s exactly my point. The Benefactor, whoever they are, not only has to know that people like the Mute exist in order to recruit them but they also have to have some way to get in touch with them. You and I are going to track them down by recreating exactly how they did it.”

“We don’t even know how the assassins were initially contacted.” Argent wasn’t trying to be difficult; he was trying to understand the plan.

“They received a cassette tape.”

“What?” Argent squinted at him.

“Scott found a cassette tape in Garrett’s stuff that contained a pretty detailed history of Beacon Hills along with instructions for claiming kills and receiving money transfers.” Scott had told him about it Friday at school. 

“Do you have a copy?” 

Jackson removed the tape from his pocket. “I borrowed it from Scott’s room.”

“You mean stole it.” Argent grumbled, and Jackson shrugged amicably. 

Still Argent must not have been too put out, because he hummed while sipping on his own coffee. “So … someone completes a census of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills in order to create their master list from which will participants will select their victims, but the cassette tapes served as invitations to individuals who might be interested in the Dead Pool.”

“Yeah. Stiles and Scott are working the supernatural census angle, but the Benefactor must have a means to get the tapes to the specific assassins they wanted, since I doubt that all professional assassins know about the supernatural.” 

Argent nodded approvingly. “So what’s your thinking?”

“The Benefactor isn’t going to be a florist with a petty grudge. Let’s review. There is someone out there who knows enough about Beacon Hills’ history to rob the Hale’s secret vault and provide the information contained on these tapes. They know how to identify supernatural creatures — they identified Liam and he was bit two weeks ago — and they know enough about the criminal underworld to not only locate assassins but also select ones who would have a chance going against supernatural targets.” 

“That’s a pretty small list of people.”

“Exactly. No matter how careful that person is, people like that doing things like this get noticed in certain places. Which means you and I are going to San Francisco this weekend. We’re going to the Emperor’s Club.”

“As much as saying opens me up for a lot of jokes, all my experience points to the club being a myth, Jackson.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that werewolves were myths to me, Mr. Argent. It does exist; I heard the story of the Emperor’s Club while in London.” Named in honor of Emperor Norton, a vagabond who declared himself Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, Jackson had been told that the club was a gathering place in San Francisco for creatures that, according to the general population, did not exist. Not only did it serve as a focus for San Francisco’s supernatural nightlife, but it was also a place for those individuals with specific needs – such as wendigoag – to find others willing to discretely fulfill those needs.

Mr. Argent studied him. Jackson watched the wheels move around his eyes. “You’re right. It would be the most likely place to find a lead to our target. But how are we going to find it?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” smiled Jackson. “I have an invitation.”

Jackson had called Alexandrina the night before. She knew someone who knew someone. She had cautioned him that the Emperor Club was ran nothing like the way things ran in London. There were no rules of behavior. If you entered the Emperor Club, you understood that you were fair game to any predator that might stumble across you.

“Are you going to tell Scott where we’re going?”

“No.” Jackson shook his head. He wasn’t being a hypocrite. He wasn’t going to a dangerous place by himself. In fact, you could say in a way he had secured adult supervision. “Let him focus on the PSATs. If this works, I’ll come back with the name of the Benefactor, and he’ll be able to get what he wants. If it doesn’t work, he doesn’t have to know we went at all.”

Argent snorted. “Not very trustworthy of you.”

“Perfectly trustworthy. As Dr. Deaton said, we’re a pack, not a paramilitary unit. I don’t have to run everything I do past Scott, not that he expects me to do so. As he told me, he trusts me. Now, get in.”

“No.” Argent made a sour face. 

“Why not?”

“Porsches may be fast, but they’re distinctive and they have shit for trunk space. My family uses SUVs because they’re not distinctive and I have room for my assault weapons. _You_ get in.”

**********

Jackson watched the California countryside as it spooled out in front of his window. Frankly he despised sitting in the passenger seat on long trips; he was much happier doing something, even driving, rather than just sitting there bored or worse, trying to make conversation.

“So what’s your plan for our cover?” Chris Argent said, starting a conversation.

“Cover?”

Chris, for his part, didn’t sigh, though he looked like he wanted to. “A werewolf and a hunter walk into a secret underground club. People are going to ask why.”

“It’s not that much of a surprise. Everyone knows you’re an ally of the McCall Pack by now.”

“Do they?”

“Well they knew it in London, so I assume they’d know it in San Francisco.”

Argent looked surprised by that. He drove in silence, but he kept glancing over at Jackson as he did so. Jackson let him stew; if the hunter wanted to know, he should bloody well ask. “What did they say about my family in London?”

“Well, they were super glad you kicked Pops to the curb.”

“I should have done it earlier.”

“Of course, you should have.” Jackson muttered sarcastically. “But no one really blames you for not doing it.”

Argent grunted. 

Silence reigned in the car until they reached Sacramento. The road was beginning to fill up with normal people doing their usual weekend things. Jackson could imagine them sitting in their cars, music playing, and he envied them; Chris Argent drove without the radio. Jackson wanted to turn something on and give himself something to think about, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the grim hunter. Maybe it was against the Code to listen to the Top 40.

“Jackson.” Chris spoke suddenly. It was like the words forced themselves out between his teeth. “I need to apologize to you.”

“Huh? Okay.”

“I know I said certain things to you at the lake house the night DeMarco was killed.”

“Yeah.”

“I meant every single one of them. I still do.” 

“Well, that’s a lovely apology —”

“I’m not finished.” Chris frowned at him. Jackson fell silent; the hunter could be really, really intimidating.

“I do think you acted selfishly last year. You ignored my warnings. But I …” Chris hesitated. “I have to wonder if my anger towards you isn’t some form of misplaced anger at myself.”

“You figure?”

“You said that people were glad that my father wasn’t in a position of power anymore. The fact is that it took too long for that to happen. I had avoided working with my father for almost fifteen years, and I had barely spoken with him since …” Chris paused. “Since Allison had been born. Even then, I knew what he was and what he stood for, and I wanted no part of it. But I didn’t stand up to him. Instead, I ran away.”

Jackson looked out the window, uncomfortable with the confessional. “Hard to imagine someone like you running away.”

“You’ll find that it doesn’t matter how tough you are, if you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not as tough as your opponent. I did everything in my power to stay clear of my father. You know, in the days after Kate’s death, I was more worried about him than upset about what Kate had done. I knew Gerard would come to town.”

Chris chuckled at himself.

“I was right to worry. He manipulated my wife into killing herself. He almost manipulated my daughter into becoming his pawn so he could keep control of the family. He murdered Matt to take control of you. And yet, in the end, I was still shocked at what he had done. I was _surprised,_ for God’s sake. The funny part was, I had lectured … I had lectured Allison that what we know makes us responsible. I knew what my father was, and I ignored it because I was afraid. You paid the price for that.”

Jackson scratched at his ear, uncomfortable. 

“You deserve an apology. Yes, I don’t like that you went for the Bite after I warned you — more than warned you, intimidated you to the point of harassment — not to do it. And yes, I’m always going to see you as partially responsible for the deaths the kanima caused. But the truth is …” Chris trailed off.

Jackson took the words back up. “Stop. The truth is I didn’t kill anyone while your father had control of me. I strangled Melissa McCall, I beat up Derek and Scott a lot — which was fun — and I gutted myself — which was not fun. But everyone I killed, I killed under Matt, so don’t you dare take responsibility for it.”

“Wait … you strangled Melissa?”

“Uh. Yeah. Your Pops was blackmailing Scott into giving him info on Derek.” 

“Huh. I didn’t know that. But I wasn’t trying to take responsibility for what you did. The apology is for being a hypocrite. I don’t like what you did, but I guess that’s partially because I don’t like what I did.”

Chris Argent shrugged as if there was nothing more to say. 

Jackson imagined what it would have been like to have a father like Gerard Argent. When Gerard had been his Master, Jackson had gotten too close a look into the man’s soul. Ruthless was too soft a word; Gerard Argent’s mind was like a terrifying, bloodthirsty machine, willing to do anything to any degree length to reach the goals he had set for himself. Jackson knew that Gerard actually had fully intended to murder Allison in that warehouse if Scott hadn’t done what he told him and then use the shock of that action to murder Scott, Isaac, and Chris — in that order. 

There was no shame in being afraid of your father, but Chris was right: he could have done more to stop him. Jackson guessed that was worth being sorry over. And, reluctantly, Jackson realized when it came to questionable judgment due to unresolved family issues, he wasn’t one to cast stones.

“I don’t think we need a cover. We’re there for information. We’re willing to pay to get it. Why complicate things with a lie?”

“That’s one way to do it, but are you prepared for … violence? There might be an assassin present who knows about the pool. You’re worth a lot of money.”

“No, I’m not prepared.” Jackson laughed out loud. “I’m serious, I’m not. I’m a pretty good athlete and I’m a werewolf, but I’m not stupid enough and I’m not naive enough to call myself a real warrior. I don’t really know how to fight against people who are actually trying to kill me. Which is why I asked you to come. If things go south in there, I’m going to rely on your skill to get us out.”

“That’s … pretty wise of you.”

“Yeah. Better late than never to listen to your elders.”

Chris nodded in acknowledgment of Jackson’s apology hidden behind his words. “Okay. But don’t sell yourself short.” Argent hesitated. “You fought against Derek, Scott, Isaac and me, and you pretty much kicked our asses.”

“That wasn’t me … well, it was me, but … it’s hard to explain.” Jackson felt his eyebrow twitching. “I know you’ve learned about how werewolves experience the full moon?”

“Of course. Certain primal instincts are brought to the forefront, urges to violence and dominance. In wolves who are weakened, inexperienced, or emotionally unstable, those instincts can significantly influence their core personality. When those werewolves who do lose control they still retain access to some of their intellectual capability.”

“True. The important part is that … well, the human isn’t in the driver seat. They’re in the back seat, screaming at the driver to hit the brakes.”

Chris chuckled again, less sourly. 

“As a kanima, it’s very different. The wolf’s instincts — what I experience now — burn like fire and moonlight. Its instincts were like ice and darkness. The driver wasn’t angry; it simply wanted to fulfill the desires of its master as quickly and efficiently as possible. It’s a completely different feeling, but it still wasn’t me in control. I’ve dreamed about what I did, but I couldn’t reproduce that type of detachment even if I tried.” 

“I see. Then we’re really going to need to work together. You’ll have to do most of the talking; I’m going to be very busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Identifying targets. Planning escape routes. This isn’t going to be safe” Chris glanced over at him. “I won’t even be able to whisper to you, especially if there’s another supernatural with advanced hearing.”

“Got it. So what do you want me to say?”

“First off, I want you to be yourself: entitled, loud, and insufferable.”

“Ha-ha.”

They spent the rest of the trip to San Francisco planning exactly Jackson’s pitch.

**********

Their destination was revealed to be a brick distillery, called the Altmeyer Brewing Company Building and erected in 1910. Once in that same location, there had been an older, wood-and-stone building with the same purpose destroyed in the Great Fire of 1906. During its time, the Altmeyer Brewing Company did produce its own distinctive brand of beer, but that beer was only ever sold to the local bars and taverns of that neighborhood. The company could have produced a significantly higher volume of product, but that wasn’t the purpose of the building. It stopped producing beer altogether — or anything really — during Prohibition, and instead was superficially repurposed as a clearing house for restaurant supplies. It had never did very much business in that field either, though the building was kept immaculately repaired.

After all, appearances had to be maintained, even if everything of important happened far underneath the ground.

While the place was filled with boxes of flatware, glassware, place mats and all the materials a restaurant needed, there was still equipment conspicuously left over from its earlier days as a distillery. One enormous, lidded copper vat caught the visitor’s eye immediately. Employees must have spent many an hour burnishing the outside so it gleamed in electric light. Of course, those who knew the truth could guess that was done so the secret door in its side would not be given away by everyday use. If a person had the correct key or had been told where the guest key was hidden for that month, they could open up the vat. Inside, they could descend a spiral staircase to the Emperor’s club. 

Emperor Norton the First of the United States, Protector of Mexico had been one-third lunatic, one-third con man, and one-third kindly old man. He had no real power and no real wealth, but he somehow became the unofficial mascot of San Francisco. When he died, the public paid for a funeral procession through the streets as if he had been a real bishop, a real president … or a real emperor. The phenomenon was amazing, unprecedented, and unnatural.

It appealed to the clientele of the club named after him. 

Jackson descended the spiral staircase deliberately. Finely crafted copper steps — and how much did they cost? — rang like a soft bell with every footfall. At the bottom was a pair of ornate wooden doors. Looking back to see that Argent was right behind him, he pulled them open.

The club felt like an early twentieth century speakeasy. An effort had been made in its design to reinforce the clandestine nature of the gathering. Shaded bulbs mounted on the walls gave the interior at least dim light, but individual lamps at each table were convenient for members to adjust. The place was arranged like an inverted ziggurat. The bar was located in the center of the lowest level; everywhere were groups of leather chairs and couches around low-set tables. 

Jackson moved to the edge of the highest level. Argent wanted him to draw as much attention as possible, for if they kept too low a profile, they could spend the whole night here and learn nothing. He tugged on the sleeves of his new suit — he still preferred Hugo Boss — and carefully gave the whole room a small, slightly smug smile. 

Act like you belong here, he whispered to himself. Act like you belong here.

Mr. Argent stood right behind him. Jackson had been stunned to realize that Argent knew just as much about suits as he did, though he did have to force the hunter to get a shave and a haircut. No matter how nice the suit, if you put a hobo in a suit, you still had a hobo. Chris leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “There’s an emergency hatch on the lower level, right behind the bar’s cash register.”

“How?” Jackson whispered back. He didn’t see it.

Before they could continue the conversation, a man appeared right next to where they were standing. He moved very stealthily, for Jackson hadn’t sensed him. He was handsome; he looked like a member of one of the Pacific coast tribes — most likely Miwok. Jackson turned to him, expectantly.

“Welcome to the Emperor Club. I am Kosume, the Proprietor.” 

“Jackson Whittemore.” Jackson extended his hand. The man did not hesitate to take his hand, and the grip was firm and strong while not being aggressive, but for some reason, it still unsettled Jackson. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Kosume was seeing beneath his skin. “This is Chris Argent.”

Jackson watched the man’s impressively impassive face flicker at the news. He would have loved to catch the reactions of others in the club, but he didn’t want to offend Kosume. 

“I always like to greet newcomers to the club personally on their first visit.” Kosume continued as if nothing had disturbed him. He offered his hand to Mr. Argent as well. “People should feel welcome here. If you have any questions about the club’s practices, you can always come to me.”

“I’ll no doubt take you up on that offer.”

“Unfortunately, I would be remiss if I didn’t to point out that the club has certain rules, though there are only two. The first is that under no circumstances are you to take any actions which might reveal the club to the human authorities.” He paused. “Not including yourself, Mr. Argent.”

“I’m not here as any sort of authority,” Argent assured gruffly.

“I didn’t think you were.” Kosume paused. “And the second rule is that if you do something which damages the club’s property, you’re expected to pay for it.”

“Those are the only rules?”

The man nodded. “The club is here to let supernatural entities be themselves; too many rules would thwart that purpose, even though we understand that some of our clientele are more violent than others.”

“My friend and I,” Jackson smiled widely in reassurance, “have no intention of being violent. We’re here …”

Kosume held up a hand. “Unless it has to do with the maintenance of the club, I don’t have to know. You should remember, if you tell me something, I’m under no obligation to keep it a secret.” 

“Fair enough. How did you become the Proprietor, Mr. Kosume?” 

“Just Kosume, please. My family has maintained neutral ground in this area since before Columbus left Italy.” He led them toward the bar. “Fashions change, but the need for those who dwell in shadow to sometimes seek out others has not.” 

Jackson decided to start with this man. He seemed knowledgeable. “In gratitude, would you mind if I bought you a drink?”

“Not at all.” Kosume seemed pleased by the etiquette.

Jackson offered something to Argent who shook his head. He bought the Proprietor and himself a glass of wine; even if he couldn’t feel it, he could still enjoy the taste and it gave a good impression.

“So, I can’t really help but try to satisfy my own curiosity.” This was true. “Why has your family been at this for so long?” 

Kosume considered his reply while sipping his wine. “It’s a secret, but I’ll trade you a secret for a secret.”

Jackson felt his gut lurch, but he told himself that this was exactly why they were here. He nodded.

“My kind have been around for as long as your kind have, and while stories have exaggerated certain of our characteristics at the heart of these stories lies a truth. We love to learn secrets.” The Proprietor’s eyes shifted for just a moment from a normal human’s to the black eyes of a bird. 

“Ravens.”

“Yes. Our flock worked to make this place a haven from humans, and in return we listen to the conversations that happen here. Now for my question … you’ve called yourself a werewolf, but are you still a kanima?”

Jackson slid his eyes toward Chris Argent. “That’s not a simple answer.” 

“No. Which is why I asked it.” 

Jackson snorted. “I’m not close to reverting, if that’s what you want to know.”

“But you can’t yet call upon its power.”

This whole conversation went south faster than Jackson had been expecting. “No. Not that I have any desire to do so.” He could feel Chris’s eyes on the side of his head. 

Kosume finished his wine. “Thank you, Mr. Whittemore. I’ll leave you to enjoy the club. I think your companion has some questions for you.”


	21. Weaponized (Part 2: You Can Debrief Each Other)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson makes a contact that might get him the identity of the Benefactor. Things get a little violent.

Due to their enhanced metabolisms, werewolves normally can’t get drunk unless they drink enough alcohol to poison two full grown humans. This is a significant downside, because unless the werewolf in question is serious about their goal, they usually can’t drink fast enough to feel it. It was better, of course, than not being able to drink at all. They still could enjoy the taste. Jackson had grown up among the upper middle class, so he had overheard his parents talking about wine. They had even hosted a wine tasting party when he was fourteen. Because of that, he had enough knowledge to tell good wine from bad wine, and he found that he liked good wine, even if he couldn’t get the whole effect.

Yeah, even when he was only eighteen. What of it? He could die tomorrow. 

He studied the glass in his hand; it was real crystal, not something you’d pick up at Walmart. He’d have enjoyed this place if it wasn’t suddenly fraught with danger. Kosume had been satisfied with their conversation and had gone off to take care of club business, so Jackson was trying to make himself as comfortable as possible in the leather chair. Argent sat across from him in another, frowning. The expression had appeared during his conversation with the wereraven, and it was getting on Jackson’s nerves.

“What?”

“Nothing much.” The hunter tried to sound nonchalant. “I’m sure you would have brought up the whole thing about you still being a kanima eventually.”

“It’s not …” To cover his distress, Jackson took a sip of wine as he would in the middle of a normal conversation. “It’s not something that I like to bring up.”

“Who knows about this? In Beacon Hills? Now?”

“Scott. Deaton.”

Argent nodded in acceptance. “Good.” 

“I’m not reverting.”

“I didn’t say you were. I simply didn’t know you could revert.”

Jackson tamped down his irritation; it was unfair. He had been angry when Argent blamed him in part for the deaths he had caused as a kanima, but Chris wasn’t being aggressive nor condemnatory now. He was worried. “Sorry. It’s a sore subject. But I am doing what’s necessary. I am taking care of myself and my state of mind. I won’t revert.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You didn’t know? I mean, you knew about the astomi. Actually, you knew a lot about the astomi.”

“I researched them out of an immediate need. Luckily, it was one of the articles that Lydia had fully translated from our bestiary. I don’t actually read or speak Archaic Latin. It’s one of the reasons I keep track of Gerard; he knows the lore far better than I do, or ever will.”

“Really?”

“I wasn’t the best student when it came to book learning. Sue me.”

Jackson suddenly laughed out loud. It was very funny to hear Chris Argent admit weakness. The laugh wavered and then it vanished quickly as it appeared. “One of the things of which my mentor in London convinced me is that I’ll probably always have … it, deep within. The most I can hope to do is to contain it. I don’t … I don’t want to learn how to call upon it.”

“Hmmmm. Did she talk about why?”

So Argent had been keeping tabs on him as well. He was more missed by the people in Beacon Hills than he had thought he was. “I can’t erase what happened, and I can’t pretend I didn’t experience …” He struggled to speak; he didn’t like talking about this. “Derek’s Bite changed me, but the kanima came about because of something that was always part of me. I can’t pretend I didn’t do those things when I was the kanima. I can’t act like I don’t feel some degree of guilt or violation.”

Suddenly, Jackson had an inspiration. “Do you remember Mr. Harris?”

“I do.” 

“Mr. Harris told us about homeostasis. A living system under pressure acts to relieve that pressure. It won’t be the same system it was before. In my case, the pressure took the form of a crisis of identity, and it gave me a new identity, shaped by those forces.”

“I’m glad you have a handle on it.” Argent sounded as if he was being sincere. “One less thing for me to worry about.”

“Yeah. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Argent cut off any talk of his sister. “We should focus on the here and now. We’ve got three opportunities in this room, which I can count.”

“We … do?”

“Yes.” Chris gives him a keep-up look. “Our host has admitted he runs a neutral ground, that he trades for information, and that he’s motivated to know people’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t know exactly who the Benefactor is, he might have clues to their identity. The only question is can we afford to pay his price.”

“Okay.”

“Now, promise me you won’t look.” 

Jackson plastered a smile on his face as a disguise. “I won’t.”

“At your six o’clock, there’s a man I don’t recognize who’s been studying you since he overheard you identify yourself. He’s carrying at least two different handguns and he is dressed like he’s watched too many Die Hard movies.” 

Jackson did not even glance in that direction. “Assassin?”

“Possibly. Or a wannabe.”

“I am worth eight million.”

“You know I was wondering why you were worth so much. Now I understand.”

Scott was worth twenty-three million. He was a true alpha and the heart of the pack. He was the most dangerous. That made sense. Lydia was worth eighteen million. She would be difficult to kill and she made others very difficult to kill, being a banshee. Derek was thirteen million. He was the most experienced werewolf in the city and a scion of an ancient family line. And Jackson? Jackson was a kanima.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Jackson prodded Argent softly. “And the third.”

“That would be the woman coming our direction right now.”

The man watching them from the other part of the room was definitely some sort of amateur. Jackson wasn’t a professional assassin, but he could tell that the man was not particularly subtle nor competent. The woman approaching Mr. Argent and him was different. She was poised, exotic, and extraordinarily dangerous. You could tell in the way she moved, and in the way her dark eyes swept over you with a cold evaluation. If she probably wasn’t going to try to kill him, Jackson would absolutely want to bang her. Maybe even if she was trying to kill him.

Argent looked less impressed. His hand shifted slightly to give him better access to his firearm, and she noticed the motion.

“Settle down, boys. There’s no need to start anything … yet.”

Jackson remembered how Argent had explained would be the best way to act. “My name is Jackson Whittemore. This is Chris Argent. We’d prefer it if you didn’t start anything ever.”

“Well, I can’t promise you I won’t.” She had a frosty smile, both cruel and playful. “At least not until after you buy me a drink. My name’s Corinne Sepuvelda.”

“Nice to meet you, Corinne. I’d love to buy you a drink. Name your poison.”

“Whatever wine you’re having will be good enough for me.” She turned her eyes to Chris Argent. “You have a formidable bodyguard.”

“He’s not my bodyguard. I don’t need a bodyguard. We’re working together on a project.” 

“Oh. I think I can guess what that project would be.” The woman laughed, and it certainly didn’t make Jackson feel any better. “If I were a supernatural creature in Beacon Hills, I’d be extraordinarily interested in working together to stop it with anyone I could find.”

“Oh.” Jackson tried to sound suave. “You’ve heard about it.”

“Of course the Desert Wolf would have heard about it,” growled Argent. 

Corinne shrugged, casually. “It’s a lot of money, but I don’t have particularly fond memories of Beacon Hills, so I haven’t been interested in even looking at the list.”

The three of them drank silently for maybe two minutes. Argent and Corinne pretended to act as if nothing was wrong, but Jackson suspected they were calculating and recalculating behind their calm facades. Behind his calm face, he was panicking just a bit. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.

“So. Why did you think to come talk to us?”

“Oh. Because Troy over there has been salivating in your direction since you walked in, and I was curious to know why.” She waves at the amateur with the terrible fashion sense. “He’s probably going to try to kill you tonight, if you’re worth any type of money.”

Argent didn’t bother to look back at Troy. “That’s pretty obvious. On the other hand, we’re looking for the person paying. If you aren’t interested in collecting the money, maybe you might wish to help us with that.”

Jackson blurted out. “Not for free.” He tried to reclaim the errant words with a smooth “Obviously.”

“I might be able to help you with that.” Corinne finishes off your wine. “And yes, definitely not for free.”

**********

“I don’t like this.” Chris Argent had a death grip on his firearm, though he kept it pointed down. His eyes constantly swept the approach to the warehouse block by the docks. “Keep your senses open.”

“We were asked by a known assassin to lure another assassin into a position where the first assassin could kill the second assassin, which is only possible because the second assassin wants to collect the eight million dollar bounty on my head. What’s not to like?”

“Is this a British thing or is your newfound sarcasm due to you dating Stiles?” 

Jackson was offended. “Hey. I’ve always been sarcastic. Just not around _you._ ”

Argent grunted and gestured for him to keep heading toward the warehouse.

The advent of container shipping put most of the docks of San Francisco out of business, but there were still a few operational piers, such as this one on Islais Creek. Unlike the Oakland and Richmond Ports, these docks were not busy twenty-four/seven, so the middle of the night found them deserted except for the few odd and easily circumvented security guards. Consequently, this made the antiquated and poorly-lit docks perfect for clandestine rendezvous. 

Or set ups like this one.

“So …” Jackson drew the syllable out. “Do we just walk around until he starts shooting at me?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.”

At Argent’s indicative nod, Jackson started down the alley between two warehouses. There was little light to show the path, but a werewolf only needed a little and Argent didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Jackson kept one ear out for the so-called Desert Wolf, though he couldn’t sense anything but her faint scent. She was a werecoyote like Malia but far more mature and very, very skilled.

Argent had warned him not to trust the woman, but he hadn’t needed to waste his breath. Jackson wasn’t someone prone to poetry, but he could swear he could feel the menace rolling off of her in waves. It wasn’t that she was sociopathic — if that was even a thing — because she had emotions. She even had a degree of empathy, he thought. It’s that she knew what you were feeling as a living thing, and she simply didn’t care. If you took that attitude and added her lethal physicality, her paired pistols, and her obvious ferocity, there was little chance of mistaking the danger. No, Jackson didn’t need to be warned.

The plan was simple. Troy Montgomery had a pretty standard method of attack. He’d incapacitate his targets and then drag them back to a specially prepared place, where he’d execute him with his family’s prized possession. The medieval broadsword was cursed, and it supposedly drank the souls of those it killed. 

Jackson had been sure his face had looked incredibly comical in his disbelief when he had been told of this. “Is that even real?”

Argent, on the other hand, had been nonchalant. “I was nearly sacrificed beneath a magic tree stump. But as it happens, most hunters know of the Montgomery family. They dedicating themselves — or they had dedicated themselves — to watching over that cursed weapon. They were useful, because they’d even watch over other cursed items in return for monetary support. Are you sure that Troy Montgomery is doing this?”

The Desert Wolf, who had looked bored with the discussion, had nodded.

“Why don’t they just destroy it?”

“According to the info from my client, the sword is not also nearly indestructible but it can also manipulate probability. Everyone who has tried to destroy it has met with an unfortunate accident before they could succeed.” Corinne had shrugged. “The sword feeds off souls, and the family’s plan was simply to keep watch over it until it ran out of juice, and _then_ they’d destroy it. As you can imagine, some people are very angry with Troy for corrupting the family legacy.”

So now they were going to be living bait. While this asshole was busy trying to kill them, the Desert Wolf would kill Troy. Jackson tried to feel a little guilt for what they were going to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The man had betrayed not only his immediate family but also the last ten generations of his family, undoing every sacrifice his ancestors had made.

Still, he had almost turned to Argent and told him that they were going home. He had almost done it, because it when it came down to it, he suddenly realized that he had talked himself into — again! — something that could get him killed. Or someone else killed. He didn’t know what he was doing there and all his bravado had vanished with the clouds that had once covered the waning half-moon hung over San Francisco Bay.

Jackson hesitated. This hero stuff was harder than he thought. Then he heard the rattle and clink as two canisters hit the ground.

Argent and he had the same thought: flash-bang grenades. Jackson closed his eyes tight and clapped his hands over his ears, and Argent turns his body away from the canisters, hoping that the blast will knock him down but perhaps not daze him. But both of them guessed wrong. It wasn’t that type of grenade. White smoke billowed out quickly, filling the alley noiselessly.

It was tear gas.

Most poisons that would hurt or kill a normal human being do very little damage in the end to a werewolf. They still tear the cells apart and destroy tissue, but a werewolf’s increased metabolism and supernatural healing repair the damage almost as fast as it was done. Only truly lethal substances, like cyanide gas, could kill a werewolf quickly. 

But tear gas wasn’t meant to kill; it was meant to incapacitate. It was meant to irritate the eyes, nose, and throat of the human so much that they’re helpless, crying and wheezing. It was terrible, but for a creature with advanced senses, it was even more terrible.

Jackson, unprepared, panicked. His first urge was to run and get out of the cloud. He could feel Argent’s hands feebly scrabble at him to prevent him from acting on this urge, and there was a little part in the back of his brain that said that separating the pair of them was the goal of this entire maneuver. But he wasn’t a warrior. As a werewolf, he had always been the scariest thing in the room, but now he was … disabled. He was at a disadvantage. And that was not a feeling either the wolf or the man liked.

He lost Argent’s hand and plunged away through the chaos. He had to get out.

The second urge was to change, and so he gave into the full beta shift: glowing eyes, claws, ridiculous sideburns, and even the stupid tendency to run on all fours. But he was stronger this way, faster, more dangerous, and that meant, to the part of him still clinging to control, safer. He broke the outer limit of the cloud and immediately the burning in his eyes, nose, and throat diminished. In a minute, he’d be good as new.

But Jackson didn’t have a minute. He was vaguely aware of three figures materializing in his perceptions, still screwed up from the tear gas. He heard the powerful hum of Tasers. It made ugly sense — if the Argents had heard of the Montgomery family, the Montgomery family had certainly heard of them. This was going to sting.

The first one didn’t put him down. The second didn’t put him down either, but he did fall to one knee. The men have been trained and warned; they kept dodging in and out of close range. Rage started to burn away what once was panic and he lashed out with a clawed hand. It hit empty air. If he had a few more minutes, he’d be okay, and they would understand the depth of their mistake.

But oblivion came before those few minutes pass.

For his last conscious thought, Jackson just hoped that the Desert Wolf would keep her end of the bargain.

**********

The Montgomery family were not werewolf hunters, and that was a good thing. They knew just enough to be dangerous, but not enough to be thorough. Yes, electricity did hurt werewolves; it stopped them from healing, but unless you cooked them real well — like Jackson had heard that the nogitsune had cooked Isaac — their healing kicked back in the moment you stopped applying the electricity. So he became conscious at the absolutely wrong time.

He was trussed up next to Argent, who was still unconscious. It must suck to be human and not have the same recovery time as a werewolf. But it also meant that Jackson wasn’t going to get any help from that corner.

He tugged at his bonds. They were rope — thick rope — yet he felt he could burst out of them with a bit of effort. But it wouldn’t be instantaneous, and he didn’t want to get Tasered again. There were at least a half-dozen men in the room. Jackson mocked them silently; loser assassins who couldn’t be bothered to put someone to watching him.

“We still have time to stop this.” One of the men said pleadingly. He must have been only a few years older than Jackson. He was dressed in tactical gear, and he looked like he knew what he was doing. His black hair was shaggy and his goatee thin and sloppy.

“Why on earth would I want to stop it?” Troy Montgomery was the douche from the Emperor’s Club, but now in this situation it was clear that not only was he the leader, but he was the first guy’s older brother. Same jaw. Same eyes. Same hair, only Troy sported a full beard. Maybe he thought it made him look manly.

Jackson would have mocked him especially if he wasn’t holding a sword in his hand. The sword looked completely normal, like a prop from a movie, though it was dull gray metal. But immediately, it screamed its wrongness to his other senses. A low hum beyond the hearing of any human pierced Jackson’s skull, and he could smell … hunger … like a chemo signal. Could swords have such a thing? Jackson didn’t really want to find out.

“This is an execution, Troy. It’s murder.”

“Yeah, that’s usually why they pay assassins the big bucks.” With one hand, Tory pointed the sword at Jackson. “That one is worth eight million dollars. Do you know what we can do with eight million dollars?”

“I know.” Troy’s younger brother sounded despondent.

“I can give each of these guys a half-a-million dollars.” Troy boasted, and other four men were visibly pleased by that declaration. “And then we could stop scraping every dime together in that dump we call a mansion. We could fix it up or burn it down. We could do anything we want.”

“Yes, by killing someone.”

“This isn’t the first person we’ve killed. This is the first person who’s going to make us undeniably rich. And we’re going to get rich by killing a murderer.” Troy stated firmly. “Jackson Whittemore killed nine people with his bare hands, including four cops. Who’s going to cry over him?”

Jackson felt the sting of those words, but then … he felt something else. He blinked though no one noticed it, and then he blinked again. The realization was that shocking. Plenty of people would cry over him: His parents. Lydia. Scott. Derek. Malia. _Stiles._

He had to stop himself from smiling widely. This was not the appropriate time. 

“I’m your brother. I love you, but I don’t think you get how ethics work.”

“I don’t care about ethics.”

“At least don’t use the sword.”

“We’ve been through this, Andy. The sword is the only thing that gave us this opportunity. If I hadn’t been wielding the sword, I would never have received the tape. I would never have seen the list. I would never have seen the glint of light off of Argent’s gun.”

“We’re supposed to …”

“We’re supposed to starve it. Why? Because our ancestors promised? You know what it can do, and if I’m going to kill people anyway, I’m going to use it so I win.”

“It’s evil.”

“It’s power. Power is neither good nor …”

Jackson burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. He knew that he should let them stall themselves as long as possible to give Corinne time to get into position. That was the plan. But he was in too good a mood to be quiet.

“Wow. I got captured by a moron. I’ll never be able to live that down.”

Troy and Andy turned to look at him in shock. One of the minions pulled out their shock battalion.

Troy had more going for him than just greed and stupidity. He was also proud. With that trifecta, Jackson didn’t think he was in as much danger as it looked. The sword was worrying, of course. 

“You won’t be living for much longer, kanima.”

“Ooooooooh. You figured it all out, did you?” Jackson gave him his best what-a-dildo grimace. “Are you going to kill the head of the Argents too?” With a full-body shuffle, he indicated the still-unconscious Chris.

“The Argents are broken. They’re not a problem.”

“Okay, bright boy, if you say so.” Jackson fell quiet. 

“Troy?” Andy Montgomery offered. “Maybe he has a point.”

“He’s bluffing. All the information we’ve been able to put together shows them as being scattered.” Troy takes a step toward. “You’re not getting out of this by lying.”

“No.” Jackson sneered. “I won’t be getting out of this by lying.”

Humans had such shitty senses. It wasn’t a charitable thought, but how could they possibly miss the approaching assassin. She was stealthy — Jackson hadn’t been able to track her during the initial stages of the operation, but she was moving fast now and paying only minimal attention to stealth. 

He had learned how to shut down his ears when there was going to be loud noises, so he wasn’t deafened when the Desert Wolf opened fire. 

It should have been a quick kill. She had the surprise, she was a perfect shot, and Troy and his minions hadn’t set up a proper perimeter. It just didn’t work out that way. As Corinne’s bullets sped toward Troy Montgomery, one by one, his minions sprang directly in the bullets’ path. They didn’t mean to — they were surprised and the simply chose the wrong direction to jump in.

Or they were nudged, before Troy and Andy disappeared behind a stack of crates, Jackson swore he saw the edges of the sword glowing red. Oh, shit. The stories hadn’t been lying when they gave the weapon the power to control probability.

He didn’t have any times to waste. Corinne immediately fell back to her own safe position. Now the stalking game had begun. Corinne needed Troy dead to collect her pay; Troy needed to kill him but he wanted to do it with the sword. Jackson had his own plans and began straining to burst the ropes that held him, since no one was paying attention to him.

The first thing he did was spirit the still unconscious Argent into a corner. A quick check showed that he was still breathing and his heart was beating strongly, but he couldn’t tell when the man would wake up. He cut the cords that bound him anyway. If he did wake up before the battle was finished, he’d be able to help. 

Somewhere else in the warehouse, shots rang out. A dire game of cat and mouse was being played. Jackson let his eyes glow. It was time to stop waiting for things to happen and make his presence felt.


	22. Weaponized (Part 3: And It's Not Just a Feeling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson battles assassins in San Francisco. Things get a lot violent.

The last place that Jackson wanted to be was in the middle of a gunfight between a professional were-coyote assassin and a pair of would-be assassins who wanted the eight million dollars resting uncomfortable on his head. It didn’t make him any more comfortable because he felt like he was blinding himself. He had muffled his hearing to avoid being deafened by the constant popping of gunfire. His nose was clogged by the blood of the Montgomery family’s four dispatched goons. He still could see pretty well, but he didn’t want to stick his head up and risk a bullet in the head. He’d been shot in the forehead before — not fun.

The father of the person responsible for that experience sprawled on the ground next to him. Argent stirred and moaned slightly, but his return to consciousness was taking far too long for Jackson’s liking.

“Get up!” Jackson hissed at him. “Get up you stupid son of a bitch. There’s a firefight, and I don’t know what to do.”

Argent finally managed to open his eyes, but they were unfocused by the pain. He was going to be no help at all. Jackson needed his experience right now, because he wasn’t sure who was going to win. Lydia had once told him about how Deaton had taught Scott and Isaac that werewolves could take people’s pain and how Derek had used it to heal a dying Cora. Using that to get the hunter on his feet was a great idea, except the druid wasn’t here to tell him how and he wasn’t an alpha anyway. 

After shifting the hunter against a stack of crates to improve his relative safely, Jackson began to crawl on his hands and knees toward a better vantage point where he could watch the battle. On the far edge of the room, amid high stacks of crates that brushed the ceiling, Corinne, the Desert Wolf, prowled in the shadows. She stalked around the battlefield trying to get an angle to which she could cap the two Montgomery siblings.

For their part, Troy and Andrew were staying put. They had guns, but they didn’t seem to want to use them for more than keeping the assassin on her toes. Troy clutched the cursed sword that was part of his family’s legacy in his hand. It was obvious that if he saw an opening, he intended to use that sword.

The fight had become a stalemate, and Jackson didn’t like stalemates. They took up time. Yes, this was a rundown pier, but there were still security guards and they could still call the police. If the police did come, it was all over. Jackson could probably get away, and maybe Jackson could get away with Argent. But he wouldn’t know if the Montgomery family was still coming after him, and he wouldn’t have gotten any leads on the Benefactor.

“Think, Jackson.” He scolded himself. “Think.”

Great. Now he was talking to himself. He didn’t know why he thought he could do this. He wasn’t that smart. He had managed to improve son, to act as a passable friend, to focus as a moderately good student, and to excel as an athlete. None of those had prepared him for tactical combat, no matter how strong and fast he was now. 

“Oh! That’s it, Mr. Argent. Stay here.” The groggy hunter groaned in response.

Jackson scrabbled around the outskirts of the warehouse until he found a moderately-sized crate that he lifted with both hands. A normal human would have been able pick it up, but it would require a tremendous effort. For a werewolf, it was still heavy, but it could be handled with much greater ease. It could be thrown. As a lacrosse player, he knew about trajectories.

With a great heave he tossed it near the pile the Montgomery siblings were hiding behind. The resulting fall of crates was spectacular, as were the exclamations from the two men. One crate smashed into the table that the brothers had been doing there pre-strike planning on. It collapsed, scattering supplies and papers everywhere.

Now, the melee accelerated its pace. Jackson rushed between boxes as one of the brothers opened fire on him. It would be a tough shot for anyone, as Jackson didn’t need to expose himself much in order to hurl another box through the air. Splinters of wood rained down upon him as bullet smacked uselessly into the contents of the warehouse, but he didn’t react until he found another suitable box for ammunition.

With all his strength he tossed it at their defenses. The resulting crash was rewarding but not as rewarding as the curse from Troy Montgomery. “Enough of this shit, I’m going to put that bastard down.”

Over the protestations of his brother, the would-be assassin charged out from his ruined hiding place and straight toward Jackson. Jackson kept his head down until the last possible moment, and then sprang out of the way. He needed to be on his feet before getting into hand-to-hand range.

The sword whistle past his ear as Jackson just barely back-pedaled away. The look on Troy’s face was one of hate and determination. “You may be faster than me, but all it takes is a _chance._ ” At his words, the edges of the sword glowed redly in the dim light.

Jackson managed to bite down around the squawk of fear that lodged itself in his throat. He hadn’t mastered tough talking during battle yet. Maybe in a decade. Hopefully, never. He did manage to retreat, using all of his speed to get out of the way of Troy. The would-be hunter was right — the blade always seemed to know where to go. It even nicked him once. It was inevitable that eventually, the ancient weapon would strike true.

Luckily for him, the fight did not last that long. Troy raised the blade once more to bring it down in a sweeping arc, but his urge to kill had betrayed him. He forgot someone else was trying to kill him at the same time; a bullet between the eyes reminded everyone of that reality. 

Unlike television, a bullet to the head is usually not very neat, especially from the .45 caliber pistols the Desert Wolf employed. Troy’s face was gone, and the sword fell to his ground from his nerveless fingers. Jackson felt his gorge rise as the corpse crumpled. 

Corinne holstered her guns with satisfaction.

“There’s still another one!” Jackson managed to blurt out.

“No.” She winked at him. “He’s the client.”

Andrew Montgomery stepped out from behind the boxes. His grief could be smelled from across the room. 

“You … you put a hit on your own brother?”

The man didn’t answer immediately but walked over and picked up the sword from where it had fallen on the floor. He traveled back to the smashed table and retrieved a scabbard. Out of the corner of Jackson’s eye, he saw Argent rise from the crates where he had been left. 

“I didn’t have any choice. He wouldn’t stop. For three hundred years, my family kept this sword safe. No one broke the faith; no one used the sword. Not my father, not my grandfather, not the generations before them. If Troy didn’t want to maintain the family tradition, he could have refused to become the head of the family.”

Jackson raised one eyebrow in silent condemnation.

“Yes. I put a hit on him.” Andy turned to Corinne. “Check your account. The money should be there.” 

“It’d better be.” The Desert Wolf walked over to the table and pull out her cell phone.

Andy turned away from the corpse of his brother. “What was I supposed to do? Kill him myself? Turn him into the cops?”

“Uh. Yeah. You’re human.”

Argent shook his head. “The Montgomery family does a lot of things for a lot of people who aren’t human or for people who can’t afford a police investigation. Families like mine or the Calaveras. It’s still safe, is it?” That last question was directed to Andy.

“Yes.” Andy rubbed at his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten our promises.”

Jackson turned to Argent who didn’t look relieved. He looked judgmental, but for once, the judgment wasn’t being leveled against him. He turned away from the pair of them. “Now, Ms. Sepuvelda, we’ve held up our end of the bargain. Tell us what you know.”

Corinne was looking at a piece of paper that had fallen off the table during the fight. Her face was a mask of anger, and she snatched it up. “Once you tell me what the fuck this is?” It was the third page of the Dead Pool.

**********

“I don’t see how any of this is my fault.” Jackson complained as Argent pushed him down an alleyway. Jackson felt he had to say, but he said it without heat. He was beginning to trust Argent, which was why he wasn’t resisting the pushing.

Argent brought his face close to Jacksons. “No one is saying this is your fault, and could you lower your voice, please?”

They were being chased through the streets of Silver Terrace, having just passed the City College of San Francisco. At least, they assumed they were being chased. They made their way carefully through the residential neighborhood, and neither of them wanted to get hapless humans involved in this. Jackson and Argent would be careful, because, most likely, the Desert Wolf would not be.

They finally reached an all-night convenience store on a street corner. Argent hid his gun, and they entered like they belonged there. They were going to pretend to be shopping, even though they were two men in expensive suits who smelled of tear gas and gunpowder. 

“Can we call someone?”

“The nearest person who could help is three hours away. Everyone I know in San Francisco is someone I don’t want to get involved.”

Jackson frowned, but he couldn’t argue about it. “Do you know what set her off?”

“Obviously, she saw something on the Dead Pool list that she didn’t like.” Argent scratched at his chin as he stopped in front of the Hostess shelf. The big, bad werewolf hunter apparently liked Snowballs. “Given what she said earlier …”

“She hated Beacon Hills.” Jackson said. He was searching the potato chip aisle; all this running had made him hungry. “Could it have anything to do with Malia?”

Argent made his lips go into a straight line. “Maybe.” He headed toward the cash register after grabbing a cup of coffee. Jackson would rather gargle with battery acid than drink convenience-store coffee. He grabbed a Shasta sparking water and a bag of pretzel bits. 

“No matter what’s bothering her, she’s obviously interested in making sure we don’t make it back to Beacon Hills.” Argent held the convenience store’s door for him. “Eat fast.”

Jackson had already had his hands in the bag. “Could we make it to the SUV?”

“If she’s lost us, and the lack of bullets coming in our direction seems to indicate that she has, she’ll head back there immediately.” He tore into the snowball like he had moments to live. 

“Maybe we should too.”

Argent took a gulp of what had to be piping hot coffee as if it were nothing but water. It served as an interrogation.

“She owes us. She knows about the Benefactor. That’s why we came right? So we turn the tables on her and we make her tell us what we need to know.”

The hunter stuffed another bit of cake into his mouth.

“I don’t think I’ve done a bad job tonight, and you’re as good as she is. We can take her.”

“Thanks for the compliment. You do know that you can die from getting shot with normal bullets, depending on where and how often you are shot.”

“I know.”

“We’ve already seen how good she is at putting bullets where she wants them.”

“I know.”

“You know you don’t have anything to prove.”

“I _know._ Can we go?”

Argent finished his cake. “We can. This is how we’re going to play it. I’m going first. It makes sense that I’d try to get to the SUV without bringing along the teenager worth eight million dollars. She’ll come at me, and when she does, you get her.”

It was frightening returning to their parking space. He couldn’t see Argent, who was in the lead, but then again he didn’t need to do so. He could follow his scent. Jackson kept away from the streetlights and from sight lines. He had to make it as difficult as possible for anyone to notice him, Corinne might have as good of senses as he did.

Argent had moved in a large circle to keep as far away as the docks as possible. By this time, the police must be at the sight of Troy Montgomery’s death, and they didn’t want to involve the local police. They had parked in a parking lot a good distance from the warehouse, but the Desert Wolf had rendezvoused with them there, so she knew where it was.

He was maybe a hundred yards from the SUV when the gunfire began. Corinne had got the drop on Argent. Jackson scraped the concrete with his claws, as he thought the urge to run immediately to the hunter’s aid. But Argent could take care of himself in a gunfight, and the werewolf was going to get once chance at this.

As he waited for a car to pass so he could cross the street, Jackson studied his own claws. He reluctantly admitted what would be extraordinarily handy right about now. It would be ten times better if he could neutralize the Desert Wolf with a single swipe of his claws. Her guns would be useless if she was paralyzed. 

Kosume had brought up the possibility that Jackson could tap into the kanima’s form and abilities. With that, he’d have the advantage in this conflict. He would be more powerful than any werewolf short of an alpha, and he could stand toe-to-toe with one of those. He’d be able to crawl over walls, manipulate his prehensile tail, and produce a paralytic toxin. Simple guns wouldn’t phase him at all. He half-remembered Argent emptying an entire clip into him.

All he had to do was take all the progress he had made in the last eight months and burn it as an offering to power. No. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Jackson followed the sounds deliberately and carefully. Argent had pointed out that the Desert Wolf preferred to fire two guns at the same time, so Argent would only fire one. Using that knowledge, Jackson believed he had located the position where Corinne was at. It looked like she had pinned Argent down between his SUV and the wall of an empty building.

She was moving back and forth between a dumpster and a doorway. She kept her dodges quick and immediately after she fired, so Argent couldn’t get a clear shot at her. There was no light in the alleyway, so Chris would have to aim at shadows. The Desert Wolf also kept an eye out for him; she wasn’t an amateur. 

Jackson needed to find an advantage. In the warehouse, he had used greater strength and physicality to throw those boxes. He had to think like a werewolf, not a human. What could he do now that he couldn’t do before? 

Corinne sent a few more rounds in Argent’s direction, and there was only a single shot fired back. What if Chris ran of bullets? Jackson was pretty sure that someone who fired as often and as quickly as the Desert Wolf would have as many clips as necessary. He was running out of time, and nothing came to mind. He really wished that Stiles was with him. Not that he wanted to put the boy at risk, but he was good at improvisation and fearless in its execution. Stiles’d throw himself off a cliff to help those he cared about and figure out a way to survive on the way down.

Throw himself off a cliff … Werewolves healed a lot faster than humans.

Jackson scrambled up the side of a building. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but he could easily survive a jump from this building’s height if he was prepared. And it would certainly enable him to surprise the assassin. It didn’t take him long to peek over the edge and find the woman calculating her next move towards Argent. 

_Here I go,_ Jackson thought. _Either I’m about to be very impressive, or I’m going to win a Darwin Award._

Silently — no need to let your enemy know you were coming — Jackson launched himself into the air. His emotions were split exactly between terror and exhilaration. Then there was pain as he crashed right on top of the Desert Wolf. She was surprised. It knocked her down and one of her guns clattered away from the pair of them.

Jackson knew that at least one of his leg bones was broken, but he gritted through the pain as he grappled with her. She was favoring her right shoulder. He might have dislocated it. It also turned out that for some reason, he was far stronger as a werewolf than she was as a werecoyote, which mean he had an advantage. Then with her left hand — which still held her gun — she put a slug in his shoulder.

The shock of being shot was nothing new, but it still hurt. In response, he slammed his forehead into her forehead, and it bounced her head against the asphalt below. She went limp, and Jackson knocked the gun out of her hand. 

Argent, untouched but reloading, came up beside him. 

“We got her!” Jackson exclaimed. 

The hunter knelt and searched her pockets without saying a word. He pulled out the piece of paper that had enraged her. He frowned. 

“We can get her somewhere …”

“We’re leaving,” Argent said, folding the paper up and putting it in his pockets.

“What? We can’t! We haven’t learned anything.”

“Sometimes plans don’t work.”

“We can take her back with us. She can tell us what she knows.”

Argent hesitated. “No.”

Jackson felt mutinous. “Why? If we leave now, we’ve done all this for nothing!”

“The police are coming, and it’s my SUV. We’ll let them handle her.” 

Jackson wanted to fight. To go through all this and come away with nothing. His eyes must have glowed or his jaw clenched, and Argent must have seen it. 

“Get in the damn car, Jackson.”

**********

“You’re angry.” They drove past the San Francisco city limits. The stress signals that Argent had been giving out since the conclusion of their fight with the Desert Wolf had faded. The distance must have relaxed him enough so he could have a conversation.

“We accomplished _nothing._ ” Jackson’s wound had completely healed. He held the slug which had pushed its way out of his body — gross! — in his hand as some sort of trophy.

“Being angry also accomplishes nothing.”

Suddenly, Jackson was back to wanting to sock the hunter in the jaw. He had been terrified, tear-gassed, Tasered, and betrayed. He had spent good money and wasted an entire weekend on this mission, and now he was bone tired. Yet the pack wasn’t one inch closer to figuring out who the Benefactor was.

They were still in some kind of danger as well. The Tahoe had bullet holes in it from the fire-fight with the Desert Wolf; its driver’s side back-seat window was shot out. The wind whistled through the holes and the windows as the car barreled down the freeway, leaving an unnoticed trail of the shining safety-glass hexagons. If they were lucky, no police officer would notice the state of their vehicle and pull them over. But why should they think that they would be lucky? Jackson said as much to the hunter.

“We have a safe house in Richmond. We’ll switch vehicles there.”

Of course the Argent family would have such precautions. They were a professional hunting family, even if they had some recent setbacks. That well-earned tendency to prepare hadn’t vanished. Jackson and Argent didn’t reach the two-story split level ranch until a little after 2 a.m. The home was decidedly normal; it looked like any other house in the same neighborhood. 

“Go, shower, and change clothes. I’ll switch what we need between the vehicles.”

“Change?”

“There’s an upstairs bedroom. We have clothing in there that will fit you. In the bathroom, there will be a plastic bag; put your old clothes in it and take it down to the basement.”

Jackson must have looked confused. 

“While you’ve healed, the fabric of your suit is soaked in blood and holds traces of gunpowder. You’ve got a half-hour.” 

Jackson did as he was told, going upstairs. He was too weary to argue, and while he would have preferred a nap, that couldn’t happen yet. Stripping out of the clothes actually made him feel a lot better. He carefully placed everything into the bag except the slug that had been forced from his shoulder. He wanted to keep it; it meant something to him even if he couldn’t have told anybody what exactly it meant. 

It was still sitting on the counter when he got out of the shower. He watched it, pretty obsessively, as he toweled off. Once he was dressed in some sweat pants and a Sharks hockey jersey, he paused on his way out of the room. He could leave the slug here. One of the Argent’s men could take it and dispose of it. 

Jackson snatched it off the counter.

Argent was waiting for him at their new vehicle, a Toyota 4Runner. 

“Do you get them in bulk?”

The hunter doesn’t bother to answer him; they get in and start down the road. It’s very early, so there are virtually no cars on the road in Richmond and even the interstate is sparsely populated.

“Are you okay to drive?” 

Argent grunted. “I’ve gone longer without sleep.”

“Okay. I can take over, if you feel the need.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The interstate put miles between San Francisco and them. The long concrete ribbon fooled you. It gave you the impression that you were accomplishing something, that you were going somewhere, when in fact you were treading over the same ground that you had traveled before. When this trip was finished, he’d be back in Beacon Hills with the same people, the same family, the same pack, and … the same problems.

Jackson growled to himself.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“While I have shifted my priorities in the last year, Jackson, for the thirty years before that I was trained to consider anyone like you a potential threat. A werewolf growling in the seat next to mine makes me highly uncomfortable.”

“Oh.”

“You’re still angry?”

Jackson wasn’t sure. Angry? Disappointed? Tired? It was most likely a combination of all three.

“Sometimes I forget that you’re still children. You haven’t learned yet.”

“What have we learned yet?”

“Ninety percent of things that you plan for in life will not happen remotely the way you envisioned. Half of what you try to do will completely fail to reach the goals you set for yourself. Teenagers tend to think that failure always comes back to insufficient commitment or personal incapability.”

Jackson chuckled grimly. “It doesn’t? On the field …”

“Life isn’t a sport. Lacrosse is played on that field, but in lacrosse there are only a certain number of players allowed on the field at any one time, and they are only allowed to do certain things. If something happened that was unforeseen, such as a thunderstorm coming up unexpectedly, they’ll cancel the game —”

“You haven’t spent much time with Coach.”

“You know what I mean. In a controlled environment like competitive sports, those two things are the primary factors. Are you capable of winning and are you committed to winning? But in the world outside, it’s not like that.”

“Well … that’s disappointing.”

“I know it might be very frustrating to young people, especially when you become a supernatural creature and so a lot of the rules that apply to normal human beings seem like they shouldn’t apply to you anymore. But this environment is not controlled. We did everything right, but we couldn’t possibly predict that Corinne would see something on the third page of the Dead Pool that would make her try to kill us.”

Jackson put his hand on the windshield and studied the stars between his fingers. “So, a waste of time.”

“No. It’s important to learn to focus on positive outcomes. What have you accomplished? You have a contact in San Francisco should you need it again. The Montgomery family legacy is back in reasonably respectable hands, and that’s important. The Desert Wolf is most likely in police custody, at least for a while. These are all good things.”

Jackson tried to look at the bright side. He really did, but he couldn’t bring himself to think that these good things outweighed what was waiting for them all at home.


	23. Time of Death (Part 1: I'd Like to Be in the Know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Stiles make up after their harrowing experiences. Jackson criticizes Scott's plan to kill himself.

Jackson let himself into the Stilinski house. It was Sunday night, maybe a half-an-hour after midnight, yet he wasn’t tired. He had school tomorrow, so that was going to be a pain in the ass. He hadn’t slept the entire way home from San Francisco, too keyed up by what had happened, even though he had been dirt tired. The moment he had gotten home, the moment he had lain down on his bed at six in the morning, he had passed out. He hadn’t woken up until three in the afternoon. It was a good sleep, but now he wasn’t tired. He was never going to be able to get to sleep for a couple hours yet, and he had morning practice.

He told himself that coming here was more fun than watching mindless television or getting a jump on his homework. He told himself he was just checking up on the pack, since he hadn’t seen them for two days. 

Of course that was bullshit. He wanted to see Stiles.

His hearing, totally recovered from the overload of the previous night’s firefights, could pick out the soft and steady breathing of the Sheriff, snoring gently away in his own bedroom. He could pick up Stiles shallow breathing and the beat of his heart, which meant that Stiles was still up. Coming to a decision, he climbed the stairs as quietly as he could and knocked on the door.

“Huh?” Stiles’ voice called out. There was a tremor in it, as if he was afraid. 

“It’s me.”

There was a rustle and some movement, and Jackson imagined Stiles scrambling to put himself together. “Come on in.”

Stiles was sitting up on his bed, wearing a rock-band t-shirt and some pajama bottoms, and leafing through some super-hero comic book. “Hey.”

“What are you still doing up?” Jackson stood in the doorway like a sentinel.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

“How did you get in?” 

“You keep a spare house key under that freaky looking garden gnome. Why do you have that thing?”

“It was my mother’s. I told Dad we should find a better place for it, but how did you find it?”

“Scott told me.” 

For a second, Jackson feared that he’d be sent away, but Stiles instead gestured at the end of his bed. Jackson took the invitation at face value and sat down, though he was careful to keep a couple of feet between them. He wanted Stiles to know that while things weren’t completely okay between them, things weren’t totally _not okay._ He felt that he could take that risk, because after all, Jackson was presently in Stiles’ room in the middle of the night.

Jackson studied Stiles, who immediately dropped his eyes back to the comic book he was pretending to read. He was a mix of his normal anxiety, but there was something there that Jackson couldn’t quite place. It could have been terror, but it was old. It also wasn’t hard to tell that Stiles wanted to talk but he didn’t know where to start. Jackson was in the same predicament. Someone had to go first, and Jackson considered himself braver.

“Why can’t you sleep?” 

“Why can’t _you_ sleep?”

“Slept until mid-afternoon. I’m not tired.”

“Oh. So you were just in the neighborhood.” Stiles remarked, casually. 

Jackson reached out with one hand and gently took the comic for Stiles’ hands, closed it, and put it on the night stand. “No. I wasn’t just in the neighborhood.”

“So, it’s the middle of the night and you came to see me. Why?”

“Because I wanted to see you.”

“Okay.” Stiles shuddered slightly. “Are you sure that’s why?”

“Yeah, I am. Why can’t you sleep?”

“Rough weekend.” Stiles admitted and then hastily added before Jackson could ask why, “People are mad at me.” 

“Who is mad at you?”

“Malia. You.”

Jackson sighed. “I’m not mad at you. I was never mad at you.”

“You certainly sounded like you were mad at me. And I can tell, I’ve made a lot of different people mad at me a lot of different ways over the years. You were somewhere between Exasperated Father Annoyed and Unrequited Crush Irritated. It’s a complex rating system.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “I wasn’t mad. I’m … I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was. I was trying to be firm.”

“Firm.” Stiles finally looked him in the eyes.

“Would you rather I lie to you about what I want? What I need?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Jackson drew back. This was going to be a problem and just like the terrible night last night he had in San Francisco, he didn’t have an answer for it. He wouldn’t compromise on this.

“Hey, wait.” Stiles reached out a hand and took him by the wrist. “Wait, now, come on. You gotta give me some wiggle room here. What I was asking for isn’t … totally strange. You can’t blame me for it.”

“Yeah, I can.” Jackson smiled softly. “Because you’re not being reasonable.”

“Did you ever know me to be reasonable?”

“I’ve known you to be smart. I’ve known you to be perceptive. More than anyone else, you should understand what I’m doing and why. It’s not about the morality of it; you’ve never been a Boy Scout. And I know you can handle the strangeness — look at all you’ve coped with in the last year. This isn’t about something you can’t handle; it’s about something you simply don’t want.”

Stiles frowned. “And yet you’re not mad at me …”

“I’m not!” Jackson protested. “Because it’s not my choice … it’s yours. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Stiles looked down at his hands spread in front of him. The moment hung, suspended, over a pit of different possibilities. Jackson wanted — and he couldn’t hide it from himself — he wanted Stiles to take this next step. It would be a gesture of trust and of understanding, the things that Jackson had felt from Stiles before. 

“I can’t promise I won’t get jealous …” Stiles began.

“I wouldn’t make you promise that.”

“I can’t promise I won’t get pissy once in a while.” 

“Part of what makes us so good is I’ll give as good as I get.”

“You do.” Stiles chuckled and then said hopefully. “So, you’ll give me another chance?”

“You don’t need another chance. As I’ve said several times before, it was your choice to make it an issue. It was never a problem for me.”

Stiles pulled Jackson so they were sitting side by side on the bed. It was comfortable, and pleasant. Jackson leaned over and kissed Stiles on the nose.

“What was that for?”

“I wanted to. It felt right. Couples have a feelings talk, and then someone does something stupidly romantic.” 

Stiles took a hold of his hand. “I’ll leave the stupid romantic gestures to you.”

“Deal. Now tell me why Malia is mad at you.”

Stiles started to pull away, but Jackson didn’t let him. He wasn’t going to let Stiles do that. As far he could tell, the boy always pulled away, always been hid behind humor, always covered his feelings in sarcasm, when he felt he had done something wrong. That behavior wasn’t healthy for anyone; Jackson understood how damaging it could be.

“She found out that Peter was her father. She saw the last page of the Dead Pool.”

Jackson flashed back to the Desert Wolf’s reaction to seeing the same page. A pit formed in his stomach. “How did that work?”

“She had already figured out that we — the pack — were keeping something from her. She also guessed that it had something to do with the Dead Pool. I’ve told you that she’s cleverer than a lot of people think.” Stiles shook his head. “When they were trapped in the vault, I gave her my jacket and the final page was in the pocket.”

“Trapped in the vault?” Jackson raised both eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, you were out of town. An assassin disguised himself as our exam proctor and used a biological weapon on the werewolves.” 

Jackson bolted upright. “What the fuck? You know I really wanted to make up with you, Stiles, but shouldn’t you have led with that?”

“I … I put it out of my mind.” Stiles shrugged, entirely unconvincingly. “It’s no big deal.”

“Uh. Wrong. You said biological weapon. Are you okay? I can’t believe you were attacked while I was … somewhere else.” Jackson frowned. To himself, he added, while he was on a wild goose chase.

Stiles put his fingers on Jackson’s lips. “Let me finish. They’re fine. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.” Jackson suddenly doubted that, but he didn’t press the issue. “But when Malia recovered she saw the last third of the list. She saw her name. She remembered how Scott didn’t want her to meet Peter and put two and two together.”

“Oh, shit.”

“She’s really, really, _really_ angry with me. She stalked away and hasn’t talked to me since.”

“She shouldn’t be mad at _you._ It was Scott’s decision.”

“First, if you don’t think that Scott follows my lead on some things, you don’t quite understand the dynamic we have. And, yeah, she’s angry at Scott, but she trusted me. I made myself her teacher. I was the one who said this is what people do and this is what they don’t do, and I told her that friends don’t lie to friends about important things. While I was lying to her the whole time.”

Jackson grabbed Stiles by the chin and turned Stiles’ face to his. “You were protecting her, and sometimes, when you protect people, you’re going to hurt their feelings.”

“It’s always better when they know.” Stiles rolled his shoulders in disgust with himself. “We learned that the hard way with Lydia, with you, with my Dad. And yet, I kept thinking about what Peter would do to her if he could … sink his claws in. I was scared.”

“It’s not wrong to worry about people, but you … “Jackson bit his tongue. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her why. She’ll listen to me. Malia likes you, a lot. When she understands that you were trying to protect her, she’ll … be less mad?”

“Do you think?” Stiles joked bleakly. “I know that if someone did that to me, I’d be furious.”

“I will, because I’m going to tell her another truth, and then she’ll understand.”

“Tell her what?”

 _Oh, boy._ Jackson hadn’t told anyone but Derek what he had discovered about his biological parentage. “Something I should have told both of you a long time ago. I found out that the death records on my parents were falsified. Malia’s … my sister. Half-sister.” 

Stiles took about thirty seconds to put all the clues together. “Holy shit. You’re a Hale! Do I have a type or what?”

“Type?”

Stiles threw up his hands. “Let’s just say that there’s something about your biological family that I find compelling to the point of ridiculousness. It doesn’t surprise me at all that I’d end up with one of you.”

Jackson kissed him in gratitude. “I thought you would be angry.”

“No. Nope. Startled. Amused. Not angry. And I totally understand your reluctance to share: I wouldn’t want to admit that Peter was my dad either.” Stiles turned to him seriously. “Who else knows?”

“Only Derek.”

“Good. You know Peter will try to use you. He’s an opportunist, and I know he’s planning something in my gut. I told Scott that in the vault, but … oh shit, you know about the money.” 

“I know about Peter. And I know about the money. But I don’t have to worry about him.” Jackson leaned back on the bed, pulling Stiles with him. “I have the perfect defense.”

“What defense?” Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You. You’ll see though anything he tries.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up with pleasure, and he relaxed contentedly. The next words were in Stiles’ normal jesting tone, but Jackson could hear the sincerity behind them. “You bet I will.”

**********

“Scott. I’m going to say this in the nicest possible way. This plan has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I went with you to Mexico.” Jackson put his hands on his hips.

Scott frowned in annoyance. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. My brain shut down all higher cognitive functions when you said Kira kills you.”

“She _temporarily_ kills me. She’ll use her foxfire to slow my heart so it just looks like I’m dead.”

“Yeah. There went my brain shutting down again.” Jackson grabbed Scott by the shoulders. “Remember when I punched you a lot in the locker room? Did you like that? Because you’re cruising for a bruising once again. What part of we need you so you have to take care of yourself did you not understand?”

“I know what you said, but it has to be me. It has to be someone that the Benefactor can’t afford to be unsure about.”

Jackson walked across the McCall living room until he was looking out the window into the back yard. “Can I at least make an argument as to why I think this is a terrible idea?”

“Jackson —”

“Yes, you can!” Melissa called from the kitchen. “I hate this plan!”

Scott rolled his eyes at the comment from the peanut gallery and then glared at Jackson. But he nodded his head for him to go on. 

“First, you’re going spend most of two hours in a near-death state where anyone can get at you.”

“Argent, Stiles, Kira, Liam, Noshiko and Mom will all be there keeping an eye on me. You can be there too, if you want.”

Jackson frowned at him. “Of course I’m going to be there. From now on, assume that if it’s dangerous, I’m there. I didn’t get the Bite to hide behind my mom’s draperies when something bad was going down.”

“You got the Bite to be better than me at Lacrosse.”

“That’s ancient history and not important. Also, I was still better at you at lacrosse even after you were bitten. Also not important. What is important is that even with all of us there, you’re going to be vulnerable from the point they load you into the ambulance until you they wheel you into the morgue. An assassin gets at you during that period, you’re toast.” 

“There’s an element of danger, but not as much as both of you act like. Any assassin would have had to figure out that I’m not dead to want to come after me, and why would they even try? Why they assume that the person responsible for my death didn’t get proof? We’ve seen nothing to make us think that the assassins communicate with each other.”

Jackson turned away from the window and threw himself down on the couch. “Okay. You survive the trip by ambulance. What if the Emergency Room doctors do something that actually hurts you when they’re trying to resuscitate you?”

“I went over things with Mom. I should be okay.”

Jackson blew a raspberry. “You should be.”

From the kitchen. “Have I said how much I hate this plan?”

“Look, we can fight the individual assassins forever, but it isn’t going to help others who are on that list. They’re not going to stop until we stop the money, and that means stopping the Benefactor.” Scott reasoned. “We can’t stop the Benefactor until we figure out who they are.”

“And you think the Benefactor will come in person to find out if you’re really dead.”

“Argent will pose as an assassin and claim to have killed me but can’t get visual confirmation to the Benefactor. Argent’ll threaten them. The safest thing for the Benefactor to do is verify the kill themselves.”

“Or send a minion.”

“Fine!” Scott exclaimed. “A minion is still going to know who the Benefactor is or at least give us a direction to follow.”

“And if neither the Benefactor nor a minion show?”

“Then what difference does it make?” Scott was completely irritated.

“Okay.” Jackson took a deep breath. “You understand why I don’t like this.”

Scott shook his head. He was convinced it was a good plan.

“I understand why you think it has to be you. No one else could survive in that state long enough to lure people to the hospital. I understand why you want to do it, because I heard you promise that no one else dies. But there’s a difference between bravery and … being a dumbass. There are just too many variables, too many angles. We’re teenagers, Scott, not professional spies.”

The annoyance drained off of Scott’s face, and it was replaced with something soft. That hadn’t been Jackson’s goal, but he takes it.

“Jackson, the Benefactor has planned this out to be virtually impossible to trace, even with the FBI involved in the investigation. If we’re going to stop them, we’re going to have to think outside the box. That means doing something unexpected, and that means risk. The reward is worth it.”

Jackson folded his arms over his chest. “I know you think that.”

“If you have a different, safer plan …”

“I don’t, and you know I don’t.” Jackson dropped one hand to his jeans pocket where he was still carrying that slug.

“Then help me. You can laugh at me when it doesn’t work.”

“I’m not going to laugh.”

Scott beamed at him. “And no hitting me.”

“No promises.”

Scott got up. “You want something to drink? Since I’ve got to brave Mom in the kitchen, I might as well get you something as well.” Jackson told him sure and the alpha disappeared.

He had begun to feel comfortable here in the McCall house since coming home, but today he was irritated. He was also being hypocritical. When you looked at it objectively, Scott’s plan had some flaws, but it worked off some sound principles, and if it failed to produce results they would still be able to draw some conclusions. There was danger to Scott, but the pack wasn’t ignoring it; they were working to minimize it. It wasn’t any worse than his plan in San Francisco, but he still couldn’t bring himself to support it one-hundred percent. It was probably because Scott was the one taking all the risk, while his plan had him taking all the risk. Was that what being a leader meant?

God, he hoped not.

Scott came back out and tossed him a soda. “So, Argent was telling me about what you guys talked about.”

Jackson felt heat rush to his face. “That sonofabitch!”

“Language!” Melissa’s voice carried from the other room. Scott’s eyebrows crawled up his face.

“I told him I didn’t want him to tell you anything about what we did this weekend.”

“What you did … this weekend?” Scott asked carefully.

“Uhm. What were you talking about?”

“I was talking about what he said to you at the lake house when we discovered DeMarco.”

“Oh. I guess …” Jackson tried to shrug it off.

“You weren’t talking about that.” Scott took a sip of his pop. “Do you want to tell me about this weekend?”

“Uhm … no.”

Scott took another sip. “How about I try that again. Tell me about this weekend”

Jackson thought about being stubborn. He thought about lying. But in the end, he was probably going to be forced to tell an edited version of the truth. It was important for him not to lie to his alpha, because he wanted Scott to trust him. 

Jackson burst out laughing at the absurdity. 

Scott smiled at him, but it was one of his baffled smiles. 

“I want to you think back, Scott, to little over a year ago. Remember when I had car trouble and you and Stiles pulled up in the jeep because Chris Argent was being super creepy?”

“You do know he put something in your car to make it stop working, right?”

“That sonofabitch.”

“Language!” Melissa scolded once more from the kitchen.

Both boys rolled their eyes at the scolding. 

“But you do remember what I said to you, right?”

“You told me being a werewolf was like … someone had bought me a Porsche for my sixteenth birthday when they should have started me with a Honda, but you drove a Porsche.”

“Yeah.” Jackson laughed again. “I can’t decide if that was more arrogant or ridiculous.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it was pretty accurate.”

Jackson’s chuckles died and he lifted one eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I was a terrible werewolf the first couple of moons. I was.” Scott insisted. “I don’t blame myself, because it was a nightmare to me. I didn’t want it, I wasn’t asked, Peter was a dick, and Derek and Chris weren’t much better. I was desperate and scared shitless. I didn’t have the right mindset.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I really think if you were in my spot you would —”

“I’m going to stop you right there. Are you really trying to say that I would have been better at this than you?”

“Yes.” Scott nodded. “I don’t mean you would have enjoyed it more or anything; I think you would have handled it better. You know … I admired you.”

Jackson blinked twice.

“Dude, you were the captain of the lacrosse team. You dated the hottest girl in school. I was a loser. I admired you. I still do.”

“Okay, now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“No. I’m serious. I was jealous, of course, but it was only because I wanted a life like yours. And then suddenly, you were jealous of me. It was surreal.”

Jackson smirked at that. It was always nice to be complimented. And he could tell that Scott was being sincere. He was also being a little stupid — because Killer Lizard Surprise! — but he was being sincere. “I guess we’re not jealous of each other anymore.”

“No.” Scott nodded. “I guess we’re not. And I also guess you’ll tell me about this last weekend when you think you need to.”

“Sure.”

“You’ve been dating Stiles long enough that you’ve inherited his ability to deflect the conversation.”

“I am but the student; he is the master.”

Scott looked confused for a moment, as if he didn’t understand the reference. “Okay. But you know … this is going to sound like I’m trying to … manage you, but I’m not. You’ve done a lot of good for Stiles. You don’t have to anymore.”

“What?”

“I know that I insisted that you help Stiles out when you first came back. I want you to know that … I consider you’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s not why I’m dating Stiles.”

“No, I didn’t think that! I just … I put that on you and I don’t want that hanging over your head anymore. You helped. You helped so much, even if you guys are fighting right now.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve been Stiles friend for far too long not to be able to tell when he’s upset. He also hasn’t talked about you for days.”

“He … talks about me?”

“All the time, Dude, when he isn’t mad at you. You’re … you’re important to him. So, I want you … I need you to be able to do what you want to do without my requirement hanging over you two.” Scott looked earnestly at him. “So, tell me you understand.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about it anymore, but I do understand.”

Scott glanced up at the clock. “Good. Noshiko and Kira won’t be over here for another few hours. So you can tell me what’s going on with you and Stiles.”

“It’s … private.”

“Okay.” Scott wasn’t the type of person to press. “Could you at least tell me if you’re making progress on the fight? I think he’s really bummed out but trying to hide it because of all this … you know. I only want to know if I should try to spend more time with him.”

“I spent the night with him last night, if that tells you anything.”

Scott’s happiest smile bursts out of him. “That’s great.” He claps his hands. “So where do you want to be tonight?” 

“I want to go talk to Malia before things go down. She’s mad at Stiles and you about …”

“Peter.” Scott shook his head. “I should have known better than to keep it from her.”

“It’s more complex than that. I hope I can get her to see it.” 

Scott scrunched his face up in confusion once more, so Jackson told him another secret.


	24. Time of Death (Part 2: What If It Makes You Stronger?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson talks with Malia about deception, friends, and family. Scott's plan for his temporary death goes just about as well as expected.

Malia was perched on one of the picnic tables at the school as the sun set. Her eyes were fixed on the school sign, which would have been weird if Jackson hadn’t been told that there was a secret vault underneath it that belonged to the Hales. The whole idea nearly blew Jackson’s mind. Yeah, it made sense that since the Hales helped raise money and helped steer the community into building the high school in 1941, they would use that opportunity to put in a little something for themselves. That was understandable, but it was still a secret vault underneath the school that had a magic lock.

The world was so much stranger than Jackson had ever imagined.

Malia was fully aware of his approach. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

The werecoyote frowned at him, suddenly suspicious. “I don’t want to talk about Stiles.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t!”

Jackson snorted. “Well, that’s not going to cut it for me. I want to talk about Stiles, and I want to talk about Stiles with you.”

Malia, angry and upset, showed her claws and her glowing blue eyes. She growled at him in warning, and Jackson growled right back in challenge. She jumped off the picnic table, and they started circling each other. It was very feral, though Jackson had the distinct feeling that if Malia wanted to attack him she already would have. On one hand, they were acting like animals, but on the other hand, there was something clean and pure about this that Jackson couldn’t help but admire. It was a lot less fake than human posturing.

But Malia backed down after a couple of circles. “I don’t want to talk about Stiles because I’m not sure what I want to say. Or even feel about it.”

“Then let me do the talking. I’ve got some things to say.”

Jackson gestured to the picnic table, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Malia climbed up once again to sit on the top. He joined her there, facing the high school sign. He wondered what she had been planning to do in the vault.

“Scott and Stiles lied to you.” He started off with a simple statement of fact.

“So did Lydia.” Malia pouted. 

“And you’re angry about it. You have a right to be angry about it.”

Malia shrugged at him. “Maybe.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“They did it to protect me. I know what Peter’s done. I know what Peter’s done to Scott. I know what Peter’s done to Lydia.”

Jackson sighed. “I’m going to ask you what I’d ask them. How does what Peter did to them justify what they’ve done to you?” 

The werecoyote glanced sharply at him and then changed the topic. “They don’t think I’m strong enough to handle him.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know, which is why I didn’t want to talk about it. I mean, I didn’t do the dating thing with Stiles because everything is still so new. I’m not stupid —”

“Everyone knows that.”

“I’m not stupid, but I don’t think people understand how much …” Malia groans in frustration. “When something happens, it’s like I’ve got too many ways to think about it. There’s the way people expect a seventeen-year-old girl who looks like I do to act. It’s the way I would probably act if I hadn’t gone into the woods and stayed there. Like a normal human, the way all of you seem so comfortable pretending to be.”

Jackson blinked at her choice of words, but before he could raise an objection, she continued on.

“There’s the way I actually learned to deal with things in the woods. The laws of the wild, Stiles called them. And yes, I can see why they don’t work here and now, but they’re simple and they’re effective, and they make so much more sense sometimes.”

She frowns as if remember conversations she had with Stiles. 

“So whenever something new happens, instead of reacting, I have to choose which way to react. We were in the vault, and I was finally able to read the list.” She hesitated, but now Jackson understood why this place was so important. “And I figured it out almost immediately — what they had been hiding from me. If my name was listed as Hale, then I had to be related to Derek and Peter’s family, and they wouldn’t care if my father was someone who had died in the fire. In fact, they’d probably be happy that I was Derek’s relative. The only person they hate is Peter.”

“So there I am, I know that Peter’s my father, and suddenly I have to make a decision — how do I react? Do I react like a coyote and not give a fuck that they lied to me? Or do I not give a fuck why they lied to me and attack them? Or do I react like a human is supposed to react and forgive them for caring about me? Or should I be offended that they took away my … autonomy is what I guess the word is.”

“Wow.”

“I know right? It’s frustrating and confusing. Which, in the end, makes me think they were right to hide it from me.”

Jackson hummed. “Because if you’re confused about how to react to this, how much more confused will you when it comes to reacting to Peter Hale.”

She nodded sadly. 

“You know, the funny part is that the only person I’m really mad at is Stiles.” 

“Really?”

“I can forgive Lydia. Stiles told me about what Peter did to her. I can’t even imagine it. He used her as a horcrux!”

“You’ve read Harry Potter?”

Malia screwed up her face. “No. I’ve not even seen the movies yet.”

“Then why’d you call Lydia a horcrux?”

“That’s what Stiles said. I thought that was the actual word for it.”

Jackson burst out laughing and in a few seconds, Malia joined him. It was exactly something Stiles would do. “I’m going to tease him so hard.”

Malia sobered up after a few minutes. “But I get it. I can’t imagine someone crawling around in your head and manipulating you into doing what you want. I can’t imagine what it was like for Scott, being constantly afraid of Peter taking control of him and making him kill someone. I know … I think I know that Peter thought he had the right to do it, the right to get revenge and the right to live, but I can also understand why they would fear him — why they will always fear him.” She glanced over at him. “You can understand that, too.”

“Yes, I can.” The truth was the truth.

“So, I’m … I’m not as angry as I could be with them, and nowhere near as angry as I am with Stiles.”

“Why?”

“Stiles’ the one who took it upon himself to teach me how I should behave. He’s the one who told me how friends are supposed to treat each other. He’s the one who corrects me when I make a mistake, and tells others I am making ‘progress.’ He told me that friends always tell each other the truth, while he’s been doing the exact opposite of what he’s telling me I should do.” She picked at the top of the picnic table with one claw.

“Oh.” Jackson grimaced.

“Yeah. If it didn’t hurt that he thinks I can’t handle Peter …” She shook her head. “It hurts worse that he distrusts me so much that he’d tell me to act one way while he acted another.”

This entire situation was going to be painful. Jackson wanted to say something that would resolve the conflict between them, while not throwing Stiles under the bus but also without pretending that it wasn’t a big deal because it was absolutely a big deal. He glanced at his watch. He had time before he had to go to the hospital, so he couldn’t, in good conscience, evade the problem. Why did he want a family and a good conscience again? Times like this made it seem more trouble than it was worth.

“Malia. Have you ever heard of lifeboat ethics?”

“No.”

“My father talks about them a lot. He’s a lawyer you know. It’s a fallacy. He says it’s what happens when people don’t understand the difference between principles and mores.”

“Mores?”

“Social customs, like holding the door open for someone or not eating them if you’re out of food.” 

“Okay. I understand.”

“There’s a game people like to play where they set up a particular situation. It’s usually a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, but it doesn’t have to be. The people in the lifeboat know that there’s land in a certain direction. They know that in order to reach it in time, everyone who is capable is going to have to row and row hard. There are ten people in the lifeboat, but you only have enough food and water for eight people in order to reach land. Now two people, a young boy and an old woman, aren’t physically strong enough to row, and two people are criminal scumbags but they are big and strong. What do you do?”

Malia frowns. “I see. You have to decide what’s the most important or everyone will die.”

“Exactly.”

“But it’s not a fair question. It doesn’t sound like there’s a right answer.”

“That’s precisely the point. Do you let the old woman and the young boy starve, because it insures everyone else will survive? Do you let the two criminals starve because they don’t deserve to live? Or do you ration the food and water equally and risk everyone’s lives because people end up being too weak to row?”

Malia kept the frown on her face.

“My father says that this is a trap. It’s an attempt to arrange the facts for a certain conclusion, and most often the goal is to undermine an ethical position. Normally, humans don’t toss away the very young or the very old because they’re not useful. Normally, humans don’t take punitive justice into their own hands. While principles are sound, the applications of ethics — mores — break down under these extreme conditions, but people try to argue the uselessness of the principles from this extremity.”

“So you’re saying that Stiles was right or Stiles was wrong?”

“I’m saying that Stiles employed lifeboat ethics. Normally, Stiles would never lie to you like that, just as he taught you friends don’t. But I really think he imagined a situation where he believed the right thing to do was to break that rule. To him, Peter is a lifeboat situation.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“My father would have said that Stiles wasn’t right. He’d say that Stiles set up the situation based not on facts but on his own fears and then used that situation to justify breaking his own rules. Whether my father would be right is what you have to decide. Stiles told you not to lie to friends and then he lied to you. I have a lot of sympathy for Stiles, but I also have sympathy for you. You see, I found out the same thing you did.”

“You found out who your biological father is?” Malia asked with a quirk of interest.

“More than that. I found out that Peter is my father.” Jackson shrugged. “You’re my sister.”

Malia’s face scrunched up like someone had bopped her on the nose. She inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, only for her head to cock to one side. Then she squealed with delight and hugged him. 

“Okay.” He hadn’t expected this. 

“I’ve decided that I’m going to like having you as a brother, Jackson.” She smiled at him, but then that smile faded. “Peter doesn’t know, does he?”

“No. He doesn’t. Only Derek, Stiles, and Scott know.” 

“Do you want him to know?” Malia asked sincerely. “He knows about me, but I won’t tell him.”

“I want to be the one to tell him, when and if I’m ready. As I said, we’re both at sea on this one. I want to say that he wouldn’t use this against us but …”

Malia nodded expressively. “Not right now.”

“Not right now.”

**********

“You!” Stiles pointed at him as Jackson entered the hospital room where they’ve set up the laptops monitoring the hospital’s camera system. “You are late.”

“No, I’m not. I followed the ambulance all the way here, as I was supposed to.” Jackson shrugged off the accusation. “And if you’re going to be a dick, I’ll just drink both of these mocha lattes myself.” 

Kira and Liam stared at the both of them in amusement.

Stiles looked down his nose at the drinks that Jackson was holding with an exaggerated grimace. “Okay. Yes. You’re right on time. Gimme.” He held out one hand and then turned back to the monitors. “This should cover all of the possible approaches to the morgue.”

Kira stuck her tongue out at Jackson and Liam rolled his eyes, when they realized that he hadn’t brought them lattes. Jackson responded by sipping loudly on his latte.

The four of them gathered around the laptops so Stiles could point out the locations and what they meant. 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Jackson asked. “I mean — how are we going to identify the Benefactor or his minion.”

Stiles brought up a Word document and then pointed out the locations corresponding to a name on that list. “We’ve identified each and every member of the emergency room team that worked on Scott. We know approximately where they are going to be. Someone could approach one of them for visual confirmation, but if they do, we’ll catch them on video. The Benefactor’s best bet is to go to the morgue itself, and Argent is keeping an eye on that personally. Melissa and Mrs. Yukimura …” Stiles had never managed to call her Noshiko. “They’re sitting in a car by the front entrance looking for people out of the ordinary.”

“How would they even know?” Liam asked curiously. 

“Experience.” Stiles patted the younger werewolf on the shoulder. “Melissa’s been a nurse here for decades, and Mrs. Yukimura’s nine hundred years old. Melissa will recognize regulars, and she’ll also be able to pick out people who don’t seem to be behaving the way people going to a hospital usually behave. In her life, Mrs. Yukimura must have picked up some ability to read people.”

Liam whispers to Kira. “Your mom doesn’t look nine hundred.”

Kira shrugged, yet she didn’t comment on it. It was still a sore subject between her and her mother.

Jackson took another long slurp of his latte. He understood parental issues.

At least the wait wasn’t a long one. A few minutes after that the camera on the roof went out. Kira announced that she was going to check it out, taking her ancient, mystically-forged katana with her just in case. Jackson remarked to himself silently that he had the most interesting friends. Liam sprang along after her, and Jackson would have made a puppy comment but it would be so cliché he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt droll.

“Kids,” Stiles muttered to himself.

“Do you want me to go with them?” Jackson asked from his position holding up the wall.

“No.” 

“Why not?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Jackson. “Remember how you told me that I should start embracing what I learned?”

“Yes.” Jackson nodded, yet he kept his smile inside. He very much liked it when people took his advice. It wasn’t strange; everyone liked it.

“I thought about it. If _it_ was trying to get to Scott’s dead body, it would set off one of the cameras as a diversion to draw as many people as possible away from where it was kept. Now, this problem on the roof may be nothing, or it may be something, but if it is a diversion, I want some flexibility in my response. The roof is a long way away from the morgue.”

“Argent’s at the morgue.”

“Argent’s good, but it doesn’t hurt for even people like him to have backup.” Stiles turned back to study the screens. 

Jackson got to wait with Stiles as time ticked by. He put his half-done latte down and walked up to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and rubbing them in comfort. “You’ve got this.”

Stiles snorted. “Me and my plans.”

Jackson grunted for Stiles to continue. It sounded to him like there was more to this than a single sentence.

“When Scott and I were growing up, I _always_ made the plans. I’d decide what we’d do on the weekend or what movie we’d see or what sort of trouble we’d get into. I swear that several times Melissa was so close to her wit’s end that she seriously thought about forbidding Scott to hang with me. But as much trouble as we got into, my plans were fun. We were fun.” He glanced at Jackson. “No offense, but even though I have a hot boyfriend, I miss those days.”

“No offense taken.” Jackson put a kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck.

“When Peter bit Scott, I was … I was excited and scared at the same time. It was so new. The whole world had shifted. It was a challenge, and I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I loved a challenge.” He grimaced at Jackson’s snort. “I’m the one who planned how to get Derek arrested for Laura’s murder. I’m the one who figured out how Scott could anchor himself. Taking action, solving problems, it all felt so … bad ass. Oh, I was still frightened from time to time — terrified, really — but I was also brave. I was _so_ brave.”

“Of course you were.”

“Actually, though, I was fucking stupid. I thought I was smarter than Peter, I thought I knew more than Derek, I thought I could out-maneuver Chris Argent. I became convinced that no what happened, I was clever enough to keep me and Scott and my dad safe. I didn’t realize I had just been lucky. It was nothing but luck that when Peter forced me to find Derek that he decided to try to manipulate me into joining him, rather than just ripping my throat out and dropping me in a ditch like his nurse.”

Jackson put one hand on Stiles’ arm. It had started shaking. Stiles stilled and look up at Jackson. “Thanks.”

“When Gerard beat me up, I suddenly realized I wasn’t the tactical genius. I was a pawn. It hurt almost as much as all the punching did. Why would anyone want to have this idiot sophomore who didn’t realize how inadequate he was around? And then something even worse happened — Scott started to grow into a True Alpha. And I was jealous that people looked up to him. And I was terrified of being left behind. So childish. It was like … I know this never happened to you, but can you imagine what it feels like to be in gym class and they’re picking teams and you’re picked last? How much it stings when you realize that the teams were trying to make sure you played for the other side?”

“No. I don’t.” Jackson wasn’t going to lie. That’s not that Stiles needed right now. “But I can imagine.”

“It used to be Scott and I who were picked last. His asthma and my general me-ness. But then, suddenly … it felt like it was just me. I guess that’s why.”

“Why … what?”

“I wanted the power it offered, even though I never submitted willingly. I wanted to be bad ass again. I wanted to be the one who came up with the clever scheme. I didn’t want to be picked last.” Stiles shook for a moment and then he straightened up. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Jackson felt at a loss. They had had similar experiences, but the source of those experiences, the details were different. He couldn’t tell Stiles that he didn’t have anything to worry about, when he knew Stiles still felt inadequate sometimes.

He was saved from thinking more about it by all the cameras going out. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles exclaimed. He bent over the computers. “That’s not good. It’s like they’re being jammed.”

“What should we do?” It wouldn’t hurt, Jackson reasoned, to let Stiles make the plan. 

“I’m going to find Argent. I saw Melissa and Noshiko coming in. You should go find them.”

Jackson sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. He may not have a good lock on Kira’s mother’s scent, but he knew Melissa’s by now. He didn’t take the elevator; taking the stairs was faster and if the person who killed the cameras killed the power to the elevators, he could be trapped. Only dumbasses would use the elevator in dangerous situations.

He burst down the hallway just in time to watch a gigantic person covered in bone armor and wearing a skull on his face barrel down the hallway after Mrs. McCall and Mrs. Yukimura. He was amazed that something that big could move so fast. It cornered them.

Noshiko Yukimura had supposedly broken all her tails when she used them to try and defeat the nogitsune that had been her old enemy. From what Alexandrina had told him, this would make her only a little stronger, a little faster, a little more resilient than a human being, but the alpha had also warned not to assume that it would make her helpless. She had the knowledge of nine hundred years of life, and not just the echoes of memory that Stiles possessed. 

The kitsune stepped in front of the nurse, challenging the berserker. The mammoth creature lunged at her and she used a martial arts maneuver to redirect its blow into the wall. The creature was surprised, but the kitsune wasn’t going to be able to keep doing that for long. Its strength dwarfed hers, its speed was formidable and it had inhuman ferocity.

But Noshiko didn’t need to. Jackson crashed into the berserker’s back smashing it into the wall. He was stronger and faster than Noshiko, but he wasn’t as trained. Neither were a match for it alone, but together, maybe they could keep it at bay.

“I need a weapon!” Noshiko cried as the berserker tried to shake Jackson off.

“There’s a fire axe in that emergency fire cabinet!” Melissa shouted, pedaling backwards.

While the kitsune made a dash for that cabinet, Jackson yelled at his alpha’s mother. “You need to go!” Before he could see if he followed her command, the berserker sunk its claws into Jackson’s leg and literally pulled him off his back. It hurt a lot. 

Jackson was thrown to the ground, and he tried to roll away from the berserker got a follow up hit. He was fully transformed: claws, fangs and glowing eyes. It was lucky that enough people were experienced in the hospital to run the other way when a supernatural attack hurt or at least they would shelter in place. His secret was far safer than he was. 

He growled in alarm as the berserker shattered the floor tiles where a mere second ago Jackson’s head had been. He kept moving, because he wasn’t sure if he could keep fighting if a blow like that connected. 

The berserker’s next wind up was interrupted before it could be delivered. Noshiko had managed to deliver a blow to the creature’s back with the fire axe. She spun it with both hands, and it was graceful for a makeshift weapon. The berserker whirled to face her, and she responded with an axe handle to its skull. For a moment, a shimmering fox appeared around her, like a tiny million stars on a black field, challenging the creature.

It spun around confront her, and Jackson sprang, trying to hamstring the creature with his claws. It was easier said than done. Working together, Noshiko and Jackson managed to keep it pinned down. Even when it puts its back to the wall, the two of them flanked it. But they weren’t doing enough damage. 

“We will tire before it does,” Kira’s mother said grimly.

Jackson didn’t answer, desperately thinking of an option. This things attacks were brutal and it was bigger than both of them. He raised one eyebrow as he dodged. “Top heavy.” He stepped back and jerked his head toward the staircase. 

Understanding, Noshiko pressed her attack. When the berserker was fully focused on the kitsune, Jackson pushed opened the door to the staircase. Summoning all his might he grabbed the berserker, pulled it into the staircase and pushed it down the stairs before it could tell that was happening. Then he stepped out, slammed the door and broke the lock; it was a fire door, made of inches of steel.

Jackson was breathing heavily, for the second time in a week. He’s glad we was in shape even for a werewolf. 

“That won’t hold him for long,” Noshiko sighed like the mother of a teenage girl. 

But it didn’t have to be for long. Time was running out.


	25. Perishable (Part 1: I Take Care of You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson helps out with Kira's mission to find Satomi's pack. Jackson comforts Stiles after his father is shot.

The next two days were quiet for the pack, though it wasn’t quiet for the rest of the county. Sheriff Stilinski had his deputies checked on all the people on the decoded lists, warning them that they were in danger. Several had already fled the county, seeking the anonymity of the larger cities. Others accepted the offer of police protection, and the sheriff coordinated with Scott’s father — though Rafael McCall had no idea what was really going on — to get those that accepted aid temporarily relocated. It was difficult, though, especially since no one wanted the FBI agent to know what the actual purpose of the kill list was or size of the price on his son’s head.

Satomi and the remains of her pack could not be found. Jackson didn’t think this was too surprising, especially after Kira had told him of Satomi’s adventures in a concentration camp courtesy of the U.S. Government. Most likely, she’d put more faith in her pack first, so they were probably sticking together in some other hidden place. Scott had asked Kira and Jackson to help their pack find Satomi’s. Scott thought that both packs would all be safer together.

Regardless, Scott’s pack went to school as normal, even though it seemed strange to all of them. The sheriff had, uncomfortably, suggested that Jackson stay over at the Stilinski household until the assassins could be stopped. Jackson sold it to his parents as the Sheriff didn’t want his son alone in the house. The sheriff, for his part, told Stiles to make up the guest bedroom. As if it would ever be used, though Jackson planned to keep up appearances.

Cop cars were placed outside of each pack member’s house. When Dr. Geyer wondered about it, the sheriff confided that there had been threats against medical professionals, and he could point to the McCall house as being guarded as well. Lydia flat-out refused protection, however. She argued, very persuasively, and with the support of Dr. Deaton of all people, that the sheriff didn’t have enough deputies to go around and guarding someone who could sense her own death approaching was a waste of resources. The Sheriff didn’t agree, but he couldn’t force it on her.

Classes went pretty much as normal. Those students and teachers who had heard about Scott’s ‘death’ quizzed him on what had happened. Scott gave a shallow account, but he also stressed that he didn’t want people talking about it too much. Everyone was curious, but Jackson — far more attuned to the social structure of the school than McCall had ever been — detected that a lot of people didn’t have the courage to approach Scott directly. Maybe humans could sense the power of an alpha, or maybe the number of deaths circling Scott had started making people frightened. 

Scott was either oblivious to this reality or it handling it pretty well. He had been prepared for the curiosity, and he had worked out a proper cover story between Dr. Deaton, his mother, and the sheriff. So they were capable of putting aside the crisis for the day and tried to go to school and study. Pre-calc was pre-calc, even with assassins. The furor among the student body had died down by lunch. So for an afternoon it was just school.

The text that Scott and Stiles got while getting ready for lacrosse practice ended that illusion. It was from Stiles’ dad; deputies had visited two names on the Dead Pool and found them dead: Reed Schull and Richard Benefield. Killers were half-a-million dollars richer. 

Jackson frowned at the names. 

“Dude, this isn’t your fault.” Stiles protested loudly to his best friend. “You don’t know when they died.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Scott face was drawn up in a knot of several powerful emotions. “I said no one else was going to die, and I was wrong …” He stormed off towards the pitch. 

Stiles made to follow, but Jackson caught him by the arm. Stiles turned with a look of puzzlement.

“Leave him be.”

“I think that I know better —” Stiles began.

“There’s nothing you can do to make this go away, and you shouldn’t. It’s not like before.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to protest, but he nodded and finished getting ready for practice.

On the field, Scott and Jackson worked together to run drills while Coach worked on plays with different groups of players. Scott was handling the defensive drills. Jackson was working with attackers on their aim. It was pretty standard stuff, but it didn’t take long for Jackson to realize that there was something really off. Scott was being … mean. He was shouting at the poor freshmen to keep their sticks up if they wanted to defend the goal. It wasn’t over-the-line behavior; he wasn’t being as mean as Coach was on a regular basis or even as much as Jackson was on a regular basis. It was … it wasn’t the way Scott did things.

Stiles noticed it too. As practice broke up, his boyfriend jogged over to him. “You saw that, right?” 

Jackson nodded.

“Someone needs to talk to him and find out what that’s about, but I promised Lydia I’d go with her tonight and talk to my dad, but we’re going to get some dinner first.”

Jackson nodded again, this time more firmly. “I’ll talk to him after we get cleaned up.”

It wasn’t too hard to get Scott alone in the locker room. He waited behind with Coach, talking about the next game and what they expected to see. He could see Scott out of the corner of his eyes, loitering at the doorway.

“You’re going to be there, right, Jackson?” Coach demanded.

“Uh.” The question startled him. “Yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Distractions. Distractions and dangers. So …” Coach punched him in the shoulder. “Be there.”

“Right, Coach.” Jackson had to wonder why half the time the Coach acted like he knew what was going on and half the time acted like he had lost his grip on reality. He watched the man go to his car and then turned and headed to the locker room.

“About time,” Scott muttered as he approached.

“Excuse me?”

Scott didn’t say anything else but disappeared inside. 

Jackson followed him up. He was about to ask Scott what was his problem when Scott grabbed him and pushed him up against the lockers. Scott pressed him up against the lockers, hard, and Jackson was taken aback. If Scott being mean to freshman was weird, this was even weirder. The alpha buried his face between Jackson jaw and shoulder. 

“Scott …” Jackson breathed out. “What’s wrong?”

Scott stopped and pulled back. “Oh …” He suddenly looked lost. “I … I’m sorry, I thought you’d be into it.”

“Oh, I would be … if you hadn’t been acting like you’d been replaced by a doppelganger. Are doppelgangers a thing?”

Scott took a few steps back. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve been off since you got that text. I heard you talk to Stiles. Now, you want to get a little pushy in the locker room. As much as I’m not a share-your-emotions type of guy, this is not you.”

“Maybe it is.” Scott pulled off his jersey and put it in the locker, the mood crashed. “Maybe I just wanted to stop thinking for a bit.”

“I can certainly understand that.” Jackson started getting undressed as well, but to take a shower. They had other things to do tonight.

Scott stared at the floor of his locker while Jackson disrobed for the shower. Jackson was almost read to leave when the alpha finally spoke.

“I had some dreams.”

“Well, I’m flattered …”

“Not those type of dreams. While my heart was stopped. I think …” Scott swallowed. “They were about killing. About making the call, especially if I’m going to insist we protect all the people on that list.” 

“Mmmhmmm.”

“I should be prepared to do it. I’m the alpha.” 

“Oh, bullshit.”

Scott looked up. “It’s …”

“It’s not part of anything. It’s not part of your responsibility to become a killer. You’re stupid if you think that.” 

Scott nodded slightly, taken aback by Jackson’s vehemence. 

“Now, I’m going to shower. I want to get dinner before I go out with Kira to find Satomi. You’ve got things to do as well.”

Jackson turned the water as hot as he could, and he scrubbed at himself vigorously. Scott came in after a while and went to the other end of the shower stalls. Jackson rolled his eyes in pleasant irritation. 

“You don’t have to sulk just because I turned you down.” Jackson joked. “Though it’s not the first time I’ve made people sulk in that exact same way.”

“I’m not … I’m not sulking.”

Jackson gestured for him to come over. “Look. Noshiko told you that you could have bad dreams, so why are you worried about it?”

Scott started to shampoo his head. “My dad shot a man in the head to save Stiles. It got me thinking, we were both trying to save people, so I may encounter a situation like that. Then, I dreamed that I killed … I got Liam killed by not being willing to kill.”

“Ahhh. Okay. You understand that accepting the possibility that something will happen is not the same as encouraging something to happen.”

“Maybe. Once I accept that I might have to kill to get what I want …”

“Scott. Look at me.”

“It’s kind of hard to focus when you’re naked.”

“Whatever. Look me in the eyes.”

Scott did so. Scott wasn’t necessarily ashamed of his dreams, but he was still upset. Whatever he had seen in his dreams must have done a number on him. Jackson could smell the stress even over the Prell.

Jackson extended his claws. “I have never willingly killed anyone. I never want to willingly kill anyone. But I have been forced by others to kill. There _is_ a difference. No therapist told me that. If you kill some asshole assassin because it’s the only way to stop them from putting a bullet between Grandma Werewolf Satomi’s eyes, then it’s not on you. It’s on them. And that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

They finished showering and went back to get dressed. 

Scott checked his phone. It had a message from her mother. “I got to get moving. But, what you said in there? It helped. I appreciate it.”

“You can always tell me about the rest of the dreams.” It was a shot in the dark, but Jackson had heard the hesitation in Scott’s voice.

“No. Not today. Call me the moment you find Satomi, okay?”

Jackson raised a hand in farewell as he got dressed. Part of him regretted not seeing what Scott could do when he was unsettled like that, but he wasn’t the type of person who would use someone else’s turmoil to experience a new thrill. Not anymore.

**********

Jackson picked Kira up at her house. He had to say that he really loved the Yukimura’s house. The design was clean and open and had enough of a hint at Asian influences that it signified respect for their own culture. He pulled the Porsche into the driveway and honked. Kira skipped out, and she would have looked like any bouncy high school girl except for the katana she carried with her.

“Thanks!” She cried as she slipped into the car.

“For what?”

“Giving me a ride. I secretly adore sports cars.”

Jackson smiled. “I would say you had good taste, but then you’re dating Scott, so how good can your taste be?”

Kira laughed, taking his words for the joke he intended. He pulled the car back out and roared off down the road, showing off for the kitsune a little. Hey, he was more mature then he used to be; he wasn’t middle-aged. 

The sky opened up and it began to rain. Great watery sheets fell from the sky, accompanied by strikes of lightning in the distance, and they soon left the Yukimura’s subdivision behind.

“So did your mother have any ideas about where we could find Satomi?”

“She did.” Kira pulled out her phone. “She knows someone who gets Satomi that tea she loves so much, but they’re human so they’re not on the list. Here’s the address. All we have to do is convince them to tell us where they’re hiding.” 

Jackson knew that location so he peeled off. It was a good ten minute drive.

“I meant to say thank you before,” Kira started off as they drove down the road. 

“For what now?”

“For fighting alongside my mother.”

“Hey, your mother is a bad ass. I wouldn’t want to fight her if she had a real weapon.”

“She said you did very well, considering.”

Jackson’s eyebrows lifted.

“From my mother, that’s gushing.” Kira giggled. “No, she said she was impressed. It takes a lot to impress her.”

“Tell her thank you.” His ego swell just a tiny little bit. She was very old, and very wise, and must have seen lots of powerful warriors. He can be glad that he could impress someone. “I love my mom, but your mom’s got to have a lot of great stories.”

Kira complained a little petulantly. “Oh, she’s got a lot of stories. And a lot of sayings. And a lot of lessons. Now that I know what I am, now that she knows that I am what I am, it’s like she’s changed. She used to give me my space, but now I have to creep out of the house just to have some fun.”

“That’s got to be a drag, but at least you know she loves you.”

“She does.” Kira slid her phone away. “That’s what makes it so hard. Especially when she starts in about Scott. I did what you suggested, you know.”

“You did?” Jackson couldn’t remember at this point what he had suggested, but there was a lot going on.

“I asked her to explain what she meant about foxes and wolves not getting along. And you were right, she had a lot to say. Mostly, it comes from how they instinctually approach the world. Werewolves need packs …”

“Scott didn’t.” 

“I said that, too, and she said that Scott was fooling himself. Even when he was an omega, Scott surrounded himself with people who cared for him and people he cared for. Whether you use that instinct to care for others or to chase power, it comes from the same place. It’s about security, safety, stability. Foxes do care for people, she said, but they are far more independent. We’re never really alone thanks to the spirit within us, and our powers come from time and achievement, not pack.”

Jackson nodded. “Okay, I can see that.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be pack. But I don’t need to be. She said that can cause problems. Then there’s the longevity.”

“Yeah. You’re mom’s very old.”

“She says that I won’t be able to understand it. Not yet. I’ve only been aware of what I am for not even a year, but eventually, I’ll start to resent the rush.”

“The rush to do what?”

“Everything. Getting married. Having kids. I’ll come to realize that I have centuries in which to discover love and have children, and it’s such … it would tie me down.” Kira nodded. “It made me so mad. I yelled at her. I told her that what I felt for Scott and he felt for me is real.”

“It is. I know that much.”

She rewarded him with a blazing smile like a lightning bolt, which disappeared just as quickly. “But she said it won’t last — not for me, at least. She says the first love is always the hardest. No matter how strong it is, I won’t be ready when the truth hits me. She said there was nothing worse than the day you see his first gray hair.”

Jackson kept driving. “Did Scott talk to you?”

“About you two? Yes. He was really, really awkward about it.”

He liked Kira, so he had to ask. “What do you think?”

“I didn’t know what to think at first. I did talk to my mom about it, and she said she understood what it was meant to do. You know that Scott said he’d stop if I asked him to.”

“Oh.” Well, of course he would.

“I’m not going to ask him to.”

“You aren’t?” Jackson raised his eyebrows.

“He makes me feel special and happy. You don’t even come up when we’re together, so why should I demand anymore? I know that our relationship could be over in six months, or he could spend the rest of his life with me. It could happen. But I also know that barring something bad happening, I _won’t_ spend the rest of my life with _him._ He’s an alpha werewolf; he could live for another century. I’ll live for far longer. Why deny him the chance to do with all the things with his life what I’ll get to do?”

“That’s mature of you.”

Kira laughed. “Well, that’s what I’ve decided after listening to Mom tell some of her stories. I guess you won’t mind.”

“No. I won’t.” He smiled, but he remember what he said to Stiles. Maybe he was being selfish. “You’re a pretty cool person, Kira Yukimura, and I don’t admit that to just anyone.”

“Stiles said you were a grade-a jackass.”

“Were?”

“Yes. He likes you, you know.”

“I figured that out from all the times we’ve been making out.”

They drove to the coffee shop that was so small it could have been the front room of someone’s house. It was too dark and rainy, but it might well have been. But it wasn’t a chain, and one whole wall was devoted to unique coffees and teas among other drinks. The proprietor — they were lucky they had arrived when they did, because the show was about to close — was elderly and, by this point, very sleepy.

Jackson and Kira made a good team. Kira was naturally sociable, if a little awkward, but awkwardness could be disarming if it was well-intentioned. Jackson, on the other hand, knew how to charm authority figures. They ended up with two phone numbers. One was for Tom Hill, Satomi’s second in command and the other was for Brett Talbot. 

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

That’s when Jackson’s phone beeped. He glanced at it. “Oh, shit.”

“What happened?”

“The sheriff’s been shot. He and Stiles are at the hospital.”

**********

Jackson was beginning to hate this hospital. He’d been here far, far too often since he had returned from London. It had only been three months, yet he felt like he had spent one of those months within its doors. It was a complete exaggeration, of course. The rain had stopped before he had reached the doors, but it was going to be a week for heavy rains.

Did rain stop assassins? Did it slow them down?

He knocked on the door to the room where the sheriff was at. Noah Stilinski wasn’t scheduled for surgery until tomorrow, Melissa had told him, and it was long past visiting hours, but Stiles was up there and Melissa couldn’t stop a big, strong werewolf like him.

Stiles was a changed person. He was pale and withdrawn and he moved gently, gingerly as if he was afraid of what was going to happen if he did anything too loud. His eyes lit up when he saw it was Jackson. Jackson didn’t make a move to come into the room, but he gestured for Stiles to join him in the hallway.

With one last look at his sleeping father, Stiles pulled the door shut.

“How is he?”

“It’s a shoulder wound, but it’s going to take surgery to get the slug out. Normal, everyday, non-dangerous, mother-fucking surgery.” Stiles’ voice is low even though the door is shut. 

“He’s strong …”

“Don’t tell me he’s strong!” Stiles insists, angrily. “Surgery is surgery. It’s never completely safe.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

Stiles suddenly looks shamefaced. “I’m sorry. You were just trying to be supportive, and here I am, being a dick.”

“You are.”

That drew a shocked look from Stiles, especially when he saw that Jackson was being serious. Jackson took him by the wrist and led him away from the door, and Stiles came with him without struggle. They went towards the cafeteria. 

“I don’t want to go too far …”

“Stiles. You’ll have all night to lurk at your father’s bedside, doing actually no one any good. I want to hang with you for a bit, and that’s much easier to do when we don’t have to worry about waking up your wounded father.”

“Are you … are you mad at me?”

“No!” Jackson scoffed at the thought of it.

“Okay, because it seemed like you were.”

“You were upset about your dad, so you lashed out. It happens.”

He got them both a cup of coffee and bought Stiles a sandwich. Jackson wasn’t desperate enough to eat hospital food. He steered Stiles to a deserted part of the cafeteria in order for them both to sit down. It looked for a moment that Stiles wasn’t going to eat, but then he relented and tore into the sandwich.

Jackson sipped the coffee. Stiles eating something that he brought pleased him. It was a small gesture, it was simple, but it was influence. One of the things Jackson was beginning to discover was that — as the very old saying went — you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. 

He frowned slightly. He probably shouldn’t use that saying around Stiles. 

Stiles finished off his sandwich and then started on his coffee. They didn’t talk right away. They took comfort in just being in each other’s presence.

Finally, Stiles took a deep breath and broke the silence. “I don’t want to do this again.”

Jackson took a moment to parse that. “Well, that’s unrealistic.”

“Is it?” Stiles looks up at him from between his long eyelashes. 

“Yes. It is. Your father is a police officer in a town with an active Nemeton. No one knows how to shut it off yet, and so creatures are going to keep showing up. And even if we turned it off tomorrow, he’s still a police officer. There are rapists and robbers and murderers and maniacs aplenty without a single one of them being supernatural. How are you going to stop it from happening again?”

“I can solve things faster …”

“Are you goofing off with the Dead Pool search?”

“No.” Stiles snapped.

“Then how are you going to solve things faster?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could learn magic. You could learn to be a hunter. You could become a professional assassin. You could suddenly be revealed to be a dragon, an immortal or a demigod. Not one of those things will keep your father completely safe.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”

“No. Does my jaw look fucked up to you?”

Stiles giggles at that. “I would settle for the bills being paid.”

“Then let me help.”

“No!” Stiles pushed away the chair. “I —”

“If you say I don’t want your charity, I’m going to slug you.”

“Then I won’t say it.” 

“Good.” Jackson throws his coffee into a near-by trash receptacle. “Imagine this, we’ve been together for four years, and we’re going to school and you come home for Christmas vacation and that piece-of-shit jeep has finally given up the ghost, and I bought you a new jeep and put it in your driveway with a big red bow, would you refuse it because you don’t want my charity?”

“I will never abandon that jeep, but … for the sake of argument, no, I wouldn’t.”

“Damn right you wouldn’t, because we’re not strangers. We’re two people who mean something to each other. And if the person who is beginning to mean quite a lot to me is drowning under medical bills because of events outside of their control, then me helping out with those bills is not fucking charity.”

Stiles squinted his eyes at Jackson. “Are you sure you’re not mad at me?”

“No.” Jackson responded. “I think we’ve moved to phase two.”

“Phase … two.”

“We’re going to be comfortable right now. This is where you call me out on being arrogant and competitive, and when I call you out on when you indulge your low self-esteem and anxiety.”

“Is that where we are now?”

Jackson nodded seriously. “That’s where we are now. Now, I’ll take you home.”

“I’m not …”

“Your father’s asleep on morphine, and he doesn’t have standard surgery until tomorrow. You’re going to school tomorrow, and then you’re going to help Lydia unlock her grandmother’s message.”

“Because the sooner we do that, the sooner we can maybe stop this. Okay. So bossy.” Stiles shakes his head. “It’s a wonder I like you.”

“You do more than that.”


	26. Perishable (Part 2: They Predict Death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson realizes how important family has become to him and Lydia. Peter plays his reindeer games.

The sky outside was turning the color of a barely-ripe orange. Jackson studied the lawn outside of Stiles’ window. “Our lives. Man. This is so fucking strange, Lyds.”

“It is very strange.” She assured him. Composed and thoughtful, Lydia was sitting at Stiles’ desk looking at the screen. The coded message her grandmother left, which she had painstakingly typed in, stared unhelpfully back at her. 

Jackson sat down on the bed, smoothing the coverlet, and then lay down on top of it. “Were we always doomed?” 

“I’m sure that I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“It’s just seems like we’ve all been tangled up in this since we were born. We didn’t know that this was going to be our life. We were lied to.”

“That is very much an exaggeration.”

“You’re right. Scott and Stiles had normal lives; they could have been completely free of the supernatural, but you, me, Allison, Malia —”

“You?” Lydia turned to look at him.

“Yes, me.” Jackson chuckled. “Since you shared this with me, I’m going to share with you. I’ve known this for a while, but I’m finally brave enough to tell you. Peter Hale is my biological father.”

Lydia turned her head to the side, contemplative. “Yes. I can see that. Well, that’s an argument for nurture, not nature.”

Jackson wasn’t sure if he had been expecting her to be so blasé. Part of the reason he hadn’t told her was a fear that she’d somehow hold his father’s behavior against him. It wasn’t rational, of course. “Thanks.”

“You’re also forgetting Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Liam. Some of us have been drawn into it because of our families, but almost all of us are here because of our choices. You’re a shining example of being more than your genetic destiny.”

“Maybe …” 

Lydia got up from the chair, walked over, and sat down next to him. “Absolutely. You’re at least five times better than Peter ever could be.” She teased him but then she looked him straight in the eyes so he knew she was serious. “David and Ellen are far more important than Peter ever will be in what makes you what you are. Don’t give that man another thought.”

He couldn’t promise that. “How about you?”

“I try to spend as little time as possible thinking about Peter Hale. What he did doesn’t define me; what I’ve recently learned backs that premise up.”

Jackson raised both eyebrows. 

“I was always a banshee. He didn’t make me one; he used the fact that I was. He didn’t give me those powers. They’re mine. Mine by right. Even if I don’t know how to use them.”

“I was talking about your grandmother.”

Lydia frowned and looked back across the room at her computer. “Lorraine loved me; I know that. But I also know she was obsessed with her predictions, and they eventually caused her breakdown. Though now, I think she never suffered hallucinations — they were manifestations of her power. I don’t know why the Dead Pool uses her code, but I’m going to find out.”

“That’s the spirit.” Jackson didn’t think she needed encouraging, but he did it anyway.

She got up from the bed, momentarily restless, and went back to the computer. “She must have been so alone.” She could have been talking to him, but it sounded more like she was talking to herself. 

“She wasn’t alone.”

“Maddy was dead. Her son, my father, didn’t believe her. I was a child then. When I remember how I barely handled my own awakening …” She turned to him, microscopic tears in the corner of your eyes. “I can imagine her wondering what was wrong with her. I can imagine finally figuring out that she could have saved the person most precious to her, but she hadn’t understood, not in time at least.”

Jackson watched her, carefully. “You know how she felt.”

“Did I?”

“You do. There was a time when you thought you had lost me —”

Lydia smirked. “Wow. You really think highly of yourself, Jackson.”

“Ha ha. You did. Stiles told me how much you cared; how much it hurt you when you thought you lost me. But you didn’t give up. You didn’t run away. You called me back. I’m never going to forget that, and I’m never going to forget what me leaving did to you.”

“We’ve already been over this. I said not to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it, but I’m not going to forget what it must have done to you. Then you lost Allison.” Jackson did not miss Lydia’s flinch. “You lost someone you cared about even though you did what you thought best. You know exactly how your grandmother felt.” He stood up and came to rest behind her. “Which is why you’ll be able to figure out why she did what she did, what her connection is to the Dead Pool, and how to stop it.”

Lydia looked over her should at him. “Fine. You’ve been getting better at the pep talks, but I don’t need them. I need someone to bounce my ideas against, and Stiles is still picking up the food. Help me walk through it. Why would my grandmother want to kill all the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills?”

“That might not be the right question. Maybe she didn’t want to kill anyone. Maybe she _predicted_ all the supernatural creatures that would die in Beacon Hills.”

“Then why write a code that would help the plan be executed?”

“Are we sure that was her intention?”

“What else would she write it for?”

“To stop it. Hear me out. Your grandmother had no one to help her learn how her abilities operated. She didn’t even have Peter’s unhelpful assistance. The only other supernatural person she ever met was Meredith, who didn’t understand her own powers. You told me yourself that the ‘experts’ she hired weren't anything remotely competent. What if your grandmother, working with so little knowledge of what was going on, tried to help but that help backfired?”

Lydia nodded. “I’ve been assuming from the beginning a level of competence that may not have existed. I see.”

“You’re really smart, Lyds, and you’re used to being right. When you’re not sure you’re right, or when something goes wrong, you draw back. But what if your grandmother’s prediction was so strong, that she told herself she had to help, but the very act of helping enabled it to happen. Just like Meredith and Allison.”

Meredith was a sore subject for the banshee. She had guilt there that she shouldn’t, but Jackson wanted to keep Lydia’s sharp mind on his train of thought.

“Meredith didn’t want anything to happen to Allison, but it was her clue that sent Scott and the others to Oak Creek. Her misinterpretation of what was going to happen caused the very thing you foresaw.”

“So you’re suggesting that even if the code disguises the Dead Pool, if we can figure out how she was planning to use the code to stop the deaths, we can use it to actually stop them. Do we have a clue?”

Jackson leaned over her shoulder and tapped the piece of paper. “You.”

At this moment, Stiles came into the room with the Chinese food. “What’s going on here?” He was teasing. “Who should I be jealous of? Who wants their General Tso’s Chicken dumped into their lap?”

“Oh, stop.” Lydia turned around and held out her hands. “I’m famished, and I have a lot of work to do tonight.” 

“I wouldn’t get in her way.” Jackson took the chicken with her spice level and handed it to her. Then he grabbed his. They both liked the dish and the liked it hot. 

“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Stiles asked as he distributed silverware.

“You’re probably going to help Lydia figure out the key word for Lorraine’s message,” Jackson observed. “I’ve got to go talk to Derek before the pre-season party. Finstock’s got me and Scott on sober patrol.” 

Lydia’s face scrunched up in confusion, but she figured it out and nodded acceptance.

“Why do you want to talk to him? He’s probably brooding in his gigantic window or smooching Braeden,” Stiles joked. “Or maybe both. Can you brood and smooch at the same time? Derek probably could.”

“I haven’t spoken to him since his name broke the third of the list.” That put a damper on the mood.

“I …” Stiles was about to offer to come with him.

“No. Work with Lydia; that’s the important thing right now.” 

**********

“Derek?” Jackson called out when he opened the door to the loft. “Are you here?”

Jackson wondered sometimes why Derek seemed to leave the loft open so much, but then he realized that most of the time, Derek wouldn’t really need to keep the place locked. The building was enormous, and the loft only occupied a small part of it. Any would-be robber would have to know exactly where to look to find it. Most thieves, after all, tended not to look for payoffs in dingy industrial buildings.

As for werewolf hunters and other monsters of the night, door locks weren’t going to slow them down. 

“Be down in a minute!” Derek’s voice came down from the mysterious room at the top of the spiral staircase. 

Jackson opened up his senses. He wanted to make sure that what he and Derek discussed remained private. He especially didn’t want Peter eavesdropping while they talked. He was thinking, once again, about telling the werewolf that he was his son, as a way of keeping him away from Malia. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how that would work but he wanted to do something. She was in turmoil already without their biological father adding his special brand of mischief to the mix. 

He wandered over to Derek’s reading table. In accordance with Derek’s monastic minimalism, he frequently used it as a desk. Right now, there were a few books, an idled laptop, and a sheaf of papers. It was really none of his business, but Jackson had a streak of curiosity. He wish he hadn’t looked though, the moment he did so.

Derek was writing his will.

“That’s private.” Derek spoke from the staircase. He didn’t sound very angry, though there was a little bit of irritation. 

“I know, I’m sorry, but …” Jackson picked up one of the forms. “Why?”

“It’s not unusual for someone to make out their will.”

Jackson waved the form at his cousin again. “Why?”

Derek reached the table and took the form out of Jackson hands gently. Without further discussion he gathered up the papers into a manila folder, shut the laptop off and stacked the books on top of the folder. 

“Derek.” Jackson didn’t want to plead with him. “There has to be some reason you decided to do your will now.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up to indicate surprise.

“Tell me why, please?”

Derek sighed and went over to the couch to sit down. He gestured for Jackson to join him. “Laura didn’t have one. Peter didn’t have one. That … caused problems when they died.”

“Are you expecting to die?”

“Expecting? Maybe.”

Jackson sat down next to him. “Is this about your name breaking the last third of the list?”

“Yes.” Derek said at last. He was reluctant to talk about it. “It’s also about what Kate did to me. I feel very … human right now, and I don’t particularly like it.”

“Humans live for years, Derek …”

“Humans usually don’t have the enemies I have. Humans also are used to not being as strong as I used to be, as fast as I used to be, as hard to sneak up on as I used to be, and as quick to heal as I used to be. This wasn’t particularly the best time for me to lose my powers.”

Derek didn’t seem all that put out about losing his power though, to be honest. He seemed to have accepted what was happening and was taking stable, proactive steps to counter this. 

“Banshee predictions are meant to be warnings. I don’t want you to die, Derek … I liked having a cousin.”

Jackson found himself being sincere. He liked the idea of an extended family — the Whittemores didn’t have much in terms of that. Most of his mother’s family lived in Massachusetts, and most of his father’s family was passed away. 

“I’m not giving up, Jackson. But one of the lessons I’ve learned is that how hard you try frequently isn’t the sole factor in determining the outcome. I trust Lydia’s senses; if she thinks I might die, then pretending that there’s no chance that I will die isn’t wise. I’m trying to be wiser.”

“So you’re writing a will?”

“Yes.” Derek nodded. “I’m writing a will just in case. I hold most of the legacy of the Hale family. When the fire happened, Laura inherited the property and the money from my mother. When Laura died, it had to be split up between Cora, me, and Peter. When it comes to the supernatural side of things, all the rights and artifacts passed to Laura when my mother died, and then to Peter, and then to me.”

“To Peter?”

“Werewolf custom isn’t like human custom, especially when it comes to the passing of the mantle of alpha. The ancient ways tell us that if a beta or an omega can kill an alpha, they’re worthy to take all that alpha had. The alpha was obviously unworthy to hold it.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“It’s from the time when there were no countries, no courts, and no real laws. Tooth and fang — power was the only constant.” 

“And packs still follow it?”

“Packs do, and the custom will probably still exist as long as a beta or an omega can become an alpha by killing an alpha.”

Jackson frowned at that. It seemed a very unwise way to live.

“But it has a different connotation now.” Derek was trying to reassure him. “When someone becomes an alpha that way, it’s not greeted with universal acclaim anymore. In fact, it’s frowned upon. We’re not living in the wilderness where one bad winter could mean the pack starves. We’re not in an endless war where one bad decisions can kill the whole pack. We understand that betas protect their alpha, so an alpha shouldn’t have to walk around like they could be killed at any moment. A beta or an omega who uses dishonorable means to kill an alpha is entitled to their pack and their mystic resources, but other alphas usually make it a point to spurn such alphas and to offer dissatisfied betas a chance to join other packs. They’re ostracized. An alpha who becomes one through killing is expected to make a strong case why it was _necessary_.”

“Then why have that custom at all?”

“Because there have been alphas that were incompetent or foolish or evil enough to endanger their packs. And packs can’t go to the mortal authorities, and there is no central werewolf authority. It’s why this method of changing authority is tolerated, even if it’s always questioned.”

“So Peter would have been questioned.”

Derek frowned only slightly. “Most likely. Peter was in a difficult situation for more ways than one. It’s why he couldn’t automatically assume that I’d follow him. Power changing hands in a violent manner is very rare in packs that are also family.”

“So … I can’t see …”

“There are many reasons why I keep Peter around.” Derek got up and walked to the window. “It’s complex, and probably boring.”

“No. It’s not. For obvious reasons.”

Derek kept talking but he was looking out the window. Jackson could tell he wasn’t looking through space but time. He was looking back to last winter when all this began.

“I guess my primary motivator was guilt. It was my fault that Peter had lost everything. It was my fault that Peter had been so terribly burned. Laura and I had fled in terror to New York, the biggest city we could get lost in, leaving him behind. As much as I hated him for killing Laura, I managed to take the responsibility for all that he did on my shoulders.”

“But —” Jackson wondered if it was a requirement that everyone he cared about reflexively took on too much responsibility.

“I don’t do that anymore. Kate used me to kill our family.” Jackson noticed his phrasing. “I’m not responsible for what Kate did. I’m not responsible for what Peter did in retaliation. I stopped Peter. I took the alpha power that he didn’t deserve away from him. But, he’s alive again, no matter how he did it, and I understand him. I wouldn’t have done what he did, but I understand the need that drove him. So I’ll watch him, and I’ll protect him if I need to.” 

“That’s good.”

“I also know what I did wrong as alpha. We don’t need to rehash it, but I’ve made up for it. I will make up for it.”

“Not by dying!”

Derek genuinely smiled. “I certainly hope not. But I let fear and regret make my decisions for too long. It hurt a lot of people, not just me. I won’t let that happen again. That means accepting the fact that I might not survive this.”

Jackson studied him, half admiring and half unbelieving. Finally, he laughed bitterly. “Well, if that’s what maturity gets you, I’ll pass.”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight, Jackson.”

“And hopefully not anywhere for a good long time. I like having a cousin. Malia needs a cousin. Which is why I came over here in the first place.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Derek came back to the couch.

“She found out.”

Derek nodded. “I wish Stiles and Scott had told her sooner.” 

“Well, they didn’t. But she’s going to talk to Peter. What should we do?”

His cousin thought about it. “Nothing.”

Jackson scoffed. “Nothing?” 

“We trust her. She knows the stories about Peter. The pack made a mistake not telling her; let’s not compound our mistake.”

Jackson had to admit that Derek was right. From his conversation with her, Malia was upset, but she wasn’t out of control. They had to trust her.

**********

He wasn’t lucky enough to get out of the conversation with Derek free and clear. Jackson ran into Peter at the entrance to the building. His unknowing biological father sauntered toward the elevator as if he was heading toward a strip club. Jackson slowed; he hoped it was imperceptible but Peter matched his movement. The younger werewolf got a good sniff of his scent. Other than Peter’s natural scent and some overpriced aftershave, Jackson could pick up something that smelled like sewer water. 

Peter let the corner of his mouths curl up. “Good evening, Jackson. How are you tonight?” 

The problem when dealing with Peter is you couldn’t tell if any particular group of wards was sincere, sarcastic, or an opening gambit. “Fine. Looking forward to the start-of-season bonfire tonight.”

“Are you? You still care about things like that?”

“I’m still a senior in high school. Why wouldn’t I care about things like that?” Jackson inwardly winced as the words sounded defensive.

“Considering that your alpha has decided your pack’s purpose is to protect every supernatural creature in Beacon County who has a price on their head, I’d think that you’d be too busy to attend what amounts to a glorified chance for drunk teeny-boppers to catch themselves on fire.”

“It’s your pack, too, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not!”

“So you’re an omega then?” Scott and his pack may not have truly learned how _stinging_ that word could be to established werewolves, but Jackson had spent time among London’s pack. The mere act of calling someone an omega was a declaration of vendetta; the concept of being omega was regarded with horror. They treated omega as entitled snobs treated mentally ill homeless people. 

Peter tilted his head sideways. “You know, Jackson, I did a little digging myself.” 

“Did you?”

“You were quite the belle of the ball in London, as Alpha Blakeslee’s protégé. Did you enjoy the Club?” The insinuation was clear as day. 

“Probably more than you did when you were there.”

“Have you told the True Alpha about what the Hellfire Club gets up to? Does the boy scout know what a Club meeting’s entertainment might consist of?” Peter sneered. “It’s shocking, I’ve heard.”

Jackson raised both eyebrows. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Peter wasn’t prepared for Jackson to be so unconcerned with this jab. “You’re telling me he’d be okay with it?”

“I’m sure that he wouldn’t have much problem with it at all, considering I’m fucking him pretty regularly.” Two could play at that game. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

When Jackson tried to shoulder his way past him, Peter shot out a hand and grabbed him by the shoulder. The scent of anger filled Jackson’s nostrils, though Peter was keeping it off of his face. “Are you now? I thought you were seeing Stiles.”

“I am, not that it’s any of your business.” He shrugged off the hand. 

“So who are you going to choose?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “You don’t listen very well, do you? If you’re not my pack, you’re nothing to me, so I don’t care what you think.”

Peter laughed out loud. “We both know that’s not true. And even if it was, you may not care what I think but there are plenty of people whose opinions you do value.” 

Thinly-veiled extortion. Peter was certainly a prince among men. “I don’t have to choose. They’re two very different relationships.” 

The other werewolf grinned at him. “So you’ll be okay with him dying?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Peter started to walk away, chuckling. It was Jackson’s turn to rush up to him and grab him. Peter didn’t resist. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re aware of the situation, Jackson. You’re worth eight million dollars to the right people. That’s a lot of money — my money, incidentally — and that type of money leads to violence. You’re not dealing with the South Chico lacrosse team. You’re dealing with professional assassins.”

“I know that. Better than you, considering your name is not on the list.”

“As you’ve pointed out, I’ve got the benefit of experience. Your noble alpha is leading you in a war against these assassins, making you fight with one hand tied behind your back. And when he leads you into battle, he’s going to be taking his best friend with him. Don’t tell me he won’t.”

Jackson couldn’t argue against that. Scott wouldn’t even think of forcing Stiles to stay behind, and Stiles wouldn’t tolerate being made to stay behind. 

“And while I put Stiles on a slightly higher plane than the rest of you clods, he’s not bulletproof. He’s not even knife proof.” Peter mentioned. “How are you going to be able to protect either of them?”

“I’m not bad in a fight —”

“No, I’d imagine not.” Peter looked like he was considering Jackson’s fighting prowess. “But how good are you going to be in any fight if you have to make sure you don’t kill your opponent by accident. It’s difficult, when the other side is motivated to do exactly that.”

“I see what you’re doing.” 

“Do you?”

“You’re trying to twist Scott’s beliefs into some kind of indictment against him.” Jackson scoffs. “You know what? I’ve never heard Scott say that we can’t defend ourselves. I’ve never witnessed Scott treat anyone different because they’ve killed. He’s close allies with Mr. Argent, and Mr. Argent’s killed plenty of times. The only thing I know about is that he doesn’t think that we should go with murder as a first resort or even a third resort.”

Peter snorted. 

“You keep trying to twist Scott’s reluctance to kill into being some sort of weakness. Well, it’s not, and even if it was, who cares? You’re not going to get me to turn on Scott because he refuses to let circumstances or _someone like you_ force him to kill. If you thought about it at all, you’d realize I’d be the last person who would blame him for that.”

“Well, if you’re not concerned that Scott’s black-and-white morals will keep you from protecting the ones you love, then I won’t be.”

“I’m not concerned.” Jackson pointed his finger. “I don’t know what the hell you mean about black-and-white morals, because Scott tolerates you, doesn’t he? He tolerates me and Derek and Mr. Argent and Deucalion and even those twins. If he was so inflexible, he’d refuse to work with any killers like us. But he doesn’t refuse, does he? So you can keep your concern to yourself. If I have to kill, and _only if I have to_ , I am more than able to do so, and it makes no difference at all if Scott kills or doesn’t kill. I don’t need him to cross that line for me or Stiles to be safe.”

Jackson was breathing heavily. Peter had gotten under his skin. How did he do that?

Peter gestured with his hands to admit defeat. “Well, if you’re willing to do what’s necessary to save those you care about, then I’ll … withdraw my objection.” 

They parted ways, and Jackson couldn’t shake the feeling that Peter got exactly what he wanted out of that conflict. But he didn’t have time to think about it; he had to get to the bonfire.


	27. Perishable (Part 3: You're Covered in Gasoline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson attends the start-of-season bonfire, and he doesn't take it well when Stiles gets hurt.

Scott was waiting for him at the school as he said he would be, in the courtyard. The deejay was doing the final check on his sound equipment, and some alumni were finished setting up the natural-gas cyclone that would be lit during the party. Jackson understood how much safer the gas-fueled metal framework was than actually piling wood together, but he couldn’t help but think, pedantically, that this was not a bonfire. It was a fake half-measure for convenience and paranoia.

Scott leaned up against the gymnasium wall. He had a slight, soft frown on his face, and he wasn’t really watching the preparations.

“Okay. You’re going to have to be able to go more than twenty-four hours on your own. I really don’t have that many pep talks in me.” 

Scott shook himself out of his daze. “Oh, hey. No, I’m fine.”

“A little gloomy to be fine.”

Scott dug out a piece of paper. “There’s been an update in the Dead Pool. It’s a good news, bad news situation.”

Jackson didn’t want to look at the paper. “What’s the good news?”

Scott flashed the list at him. “No one has died that we didn’t know about, which is great. And Derek’s not on the list anymore, which is also great.”

“That is good news, but I wish —”

Scott nodded and tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Me, too. Once we stop the Dead Pool, we’ll figure out what Kate did to him, and we’ll figure out how to stop her. I know that Deaton’s been looking into … whatever it was that happened.”

“Would you Bite him?”

Scott blinked as if he had never considered it. “Would he … would he want that?” 

“He’s not like us, Scott. He’s never known anything but being a wolf. If he’s actually been turned into a human, you’d have to think it’s be just as horrifying as when you were turned into a werewolf against your will.”

“I understand that, but would he want _me_ to be the one who Bites him?” Scott looked unhappy. “We could find another alpha.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Derek literally thinks you’re the best thing since spray-on cheese. Why would he not want you to be the one?”

Scott shrugged uneasily. “I never hid the fact that I despised him as an alpha. More than that, I told him that in public and not very kindly. You were there, though you probably had other things on his mind. Even if he thinks I’m doing a good job now, would he want to be my beta? It wasn’t that long ago when I told him that I’d never join his pack. It wasn’t that long ago, and it’s even more awkward now that I know how me being with Allison must have looked a lot like what happened between him and Kate.”

“I don’t follow”

“Kate didn’t just burn down the house with his family … I mean, your family in it. She did it by … sleeping with Derek. He was a sophomore, and she was a substitute teacher. I never put two and two together until Peter said something, and then Stiles filled me in on the rest.”

Jackson felt sick at the violation. “What has that …” He trailed off. It had everything to do with Allison. Derek would probably have seen what was happening, and he had assumed it was a similar tactic. It hadn’t been, of course, but how could they expect someone who had lost everything to believe that it was different _that_ time.

“I know, right? I spent so long thinking that Derek was just some prejudiced, self-centered asshole when it came to seeing Allison as the enemy even though she wasn’t really a hunter …” Scott shook his head. “He was really just looking out after me, and I thought that all he wanted was a soldier like Peter did.”

“You can’t be responsible for what he didn’t tell you.” Jackson thought about it. “And he’s obviously gotten past it.”

“But I was stubborn about it. He was wrong about Allison and he was a jerk about it, and it was still the right thing for me to do not to join his pack.” Scott looks out over the courtyard. “And I still think I was right, but now I think I could have been … nicer about it, I guess.”

“You were sixteen.”

Scott scowled at him. “That excuse can get old.”

“Only if you overuse it, which you haven’t. But here’s an idea. Talk to him. Ask him what he wants.”

Before the conversation could continue, Scott’s phone rang. He pulled it out and mouthed the name of his girlfriend to Jackson. “Hey.”

Jackson suppressed his own hearing. He didn’t want to listen into Scott’s private conversation with Kira, so he paid attention to the workers putting the finishing touches on the bonfire in the now-gloomy twilight. The dancing and drinking wouldn’t begin until the night was full on them. He wouldn’t be able to participate in either this year — but he didn’t mind it. He had many other chances to drink and dance; tonight he was going to be Team Captain. 

“I don’t want you to miss this,” Scott complained into the phone. 

Jackson turned to him with surprise at the tone. 

“All right. I understand. Text me if it works, and I’ll see you later. Be careful.” Scott hung up the phone with a sigh.

“Kira’s not coming?”

“She’s got a lead on Satomi’s pack, so she’s going to miss the bonfire.” 

Jackson chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal; shitty dance music and shitty alcohol aren’t that rare. We could throw a party with the same piss-poor quality tomorrow night.” 

“I know, but I want her to be a high school student. I want her to go bonfires and proms and dances. I want her to have the chance to be normal.” Scott raised a hand to cut off Jackson’s irritation. “I know you don’t need it, and I’m rapidly beginning not to need it. I don’t want Kira to not be able to go to these things because she thinks she has a duty to me.”

“You made the call, alpha.”

“I did.” He frowned, harder this time, though it wasn’t directed at him. “It’s harder than you might think.”

“Nope.” Jackson laughed. “I think it’s exactly as hard as I think.”

**********

When the party got going, it didn’t hold back. The courtyard was teeming with teenagers and no-longer-teenagers. Not only were the members of the lacrosse team there — with the sole exceptions of Kira and, very disturbingly to Jackson, Stiles — but many of the alumni of previous lacrosse teams, along with visitors from other teams, and all of their friends. The music was loud yet disturbingly mediocre, the alcohol was some variation of Old Milwaukee’s Best and Mad Dog 20/20, but the kids were having the time of their lives.

Jackson felt oddly relaxed and back in his element. If he hadn’t know that he hadn’t been drinking and that he couldn’t get drunk, he would have sworn that he was getting buzzed. Everyone at the party wanted to talk to him, and not a single one of them knew what was really happening or how much danger he was in. It felt wonderful. The alumni, specifically, were all over him to talk about last year’s state championship, and Jackson bullshitted as well as anyone. It wouldn’t do to share that most of the time he was in a subconscious fugue state because psychopaths of various ages were controlling him. 

The alumni wanted to know if they could expect a repeat of last year, and they wanted to speak to Stiles. After all, Stiles had been the Most Valuable Player in last year’s State Championships. He promised that he’d find out where Stiles was, so he pulled his phone and turned away for a quieter conversation. When he saw what was happening across the bonfire, he nearly dropped the phone.

Marc Oakley had been captain — and lacrosse star — five years previously. When people talk about washed-up high school athletes focused on their glory days as a way to avoid trying to understand how their chance at greatness slipped through their fingers, they’re talking about Marc. At this bonfire, he had just make mistake that would bring his melancholic mourning of dead dreams to an end, for Jackson saw him grab Malia’s ass with both hands and whisper something Jackson couldn’t make out over the deejay into her ear.

“Scott!” He shouted the alarm and rushed over to the pair; the alpha had already seen it and was also running over there. Malia’s head shot up in surprise; slowly, she turned her whole body to face her violated. Her eyes flashed blue; she didn’t care who was watching. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jackson said, more loudly than he wanted, but it shifted everyone’s attention from the werecoyote who was about to punch a guy out. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Oakley?”

The bleach-blond asshole turned to him — he reminded Jackson of an older and far-less-deadly Garrett — and acted surprised, though he knew exactly what he had done (but not what he had did it to). “You’re Jackson Whittemore. I’m just having a little fun.” 

Scott took advantage of Jackson’s distraction, reaching Malia and grabbing both of her hands. He started talking to her in a low alpha voice to get her to calm down. 

“A little fun? Is that what you call grabbing my half-sisters ass?”

That revelation got Oakley’s attention. “Oh, hey, sorry …” 

“You know, I don’t think you’re actually sorry, Marc.” Jackson took a step closer, sliding between Scott and Malia and this pig. “I think you don’t quite understand what consent means. When people have consent, such as I have with my co-captain here,” He grabbed Scott’s ass; it probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but Jackson was feeling a little loopy. Scott whirled about, too a long moment to process what was going on, and winked at them before turning back to Malia. “It’s fun. When you grab the ass of a girl like my sister here, who could clean your clock if she really wanted to, it stops being fun and starts being sexual assault.”

“Wait. I don’t think —” 

“You don’t? Why I don’t call my boyfriend’s dad? The sheriff. We’ll see what he thinks. Or, you can get the fuck out of here. Right now.” 

Marc Oakley beat a hasty retreat. No one seemed sad to see him go. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Malia snarled — in a human way. 

“Yes, I did. It’s what brothers do.”

Malia softened. “I guess I’ll allow it this time, but if you ever think I can’t take care of myself, I’ll beat your ass first.”

“Yeah, yeah.” With that event passed, Jackson pulled out his phone once again and hit Stiles’ contact. He could hear Scott behind him reassuring Malia that Jackson wasn’t being overly protective of her. He rolled his eyes; he was absolutely being overprotective. 

“Hello, Jacks.”

“Stiles, where are you? People want to meet the MVP.” Jackson strained his ears to pick up where they were.

“Oh! I … I completely forgot. Lydia and I are following a not-significant lead, so I won’t be able to make it to the bonfire.”

“Dude!” Scott’s voice raised behind him. 

“I second that,” Jackson said. “We know it’s important, but you’re going to be missed. What lead is this?” 

“Oh, don’t worry. Just have fun at the bonfire.”

“Stiles …” Jackson listened closely and he identified some of the background noises. “Are you at the hospital?”

Malia rolled her eyes as she listened. “They’re at Eichen House.”

“Sti-les!” Jackson’s voice took on sharper tone. 

“Whoops. Gotta go! Love you!” Stiles hung up. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Jackson growled.

“I thought you lo-o-o-o-ved him.” Malia teased in return. 

Jackson gave her a harsh glare, and she stuck out her tongue and danced away from him. Scott came up and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Good catch with that asshole, Jackson.”

“Are you talking about Stiles or Mr. Handsy?”

Scott allowed himself a small smile. “Malia’s going to be okay, but she just wants to have fun tonight, and she didn’t need someone ruining that for her by being a dumbass. And you’re the one who wanted to date Stiles, okay? Stiles going dangerous places without letting you know is part of the package. Be happy he hasn’t taken you to find a dead body.”

“It’s your fault,” Jackson mock groaned. “I was perfectly fine until you … nope, I don’t have any way to end that. Do you understand why we like him?”

“Because our lives would be boring without him?” Scott tried and failed. They laughed out loud together.

“So, you said you had some bad news earlier.” Jackson wasn’t sure why he wanted to bring down the mood. 

“Oh.” Scott glanced at the ground. “I do.” He gestured for Jackson to join him away from the crowd. He obviously didn’t want to be overheard by the partying people. “The bad news is that you’re worth 10 million now. And so is Liam!” Scott’s voice was filled with concern and almost too emotional. “And normal people are getting the decoded list.”

“Why? How?”

“Maybe the assassins are taking too long. Maybe too many have died.” Scott suggested. 

Jackson frowned. “They took Derek’s bounty and split it between us. Who are these … normal people?”

“Liam got a copy. So did Coach. It freaked Liam out.” Scott looked over to where his beta is trying to get drunk. “I guess I have to go tell them they can’t get drunk.”

“You do that.” Jackson puts an arm around Scott. He was feeling very touchy for some reason. “I’ll go make a sweep of the bonfire.”

The sweep took a little longer that Jackson thought it would. He kept getting distracted by sights and sounds and people. In fact, he began to get dizzy. That was ridiculous. He hadn’t had anything to drink. 

He decided to go look for the rest of the pack, but he never made it.

**********

When Jackson came to, he was sprawled on top of two people and he was soaked to the skin in gasoline. Liam and Malia were stirring beneath him. He pushed himself up and off them only to bang his head into a locker; somehow he had gotten inside the school. He shook his head, trying to clear it enough to figure out what happened.

“What happened to the gun?” Scott asked someone who was just a big blur.

It took Jackson a minute to figure out what was going on. Braeden and Derek had beaten up a bunch of security guards, and they had done it without firing a shot because the entire pack had been soaked in the same gasoline he had been. Scott and Derek came over and helped all three of them up. 

Jackson demanded to know what had happened, and Scott pieced it together for him. Apparently, they had been saved from debilitating sound waves by Liam’s friend Mason and then from being barbecued by his cousin and his girlfriend. Scott, being alpha, had recovered first.

“Are you telling me,” Jackson complained angrily, “that we were nearly murdered by rent-a-cops using crappy dance music?” 

“Seems like the gist of it.” Derek’s dead-pan humor needed some work. 

“Well, I owe you two dinner.” He pointed at Braeden and Derek. “For saving us and for your continued silence about this matter to anyone whose opinion I value.”

Braeden chuckled. “I’ll make the reservations at Cafe’ Marolle.”

“You just happen to know about the most expensive restaurant in Beacon Hills?”

Braeden paused with her finger on her phone. “Yep.”

Derek grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. “Aside from a rather powerful odor, you’re okay. Braeden managed to get Haigh to spill his friends’ plans with only a little … persuasion. I’m glad we made it in time.”

Jackson nodded; he was still clinging to his anger. Anger was cooler than suddenly hugging Derek and way cooler than breaking down over nearly being killed. He should be better than this. Scott was over on the other side of the hallway, consoling Liam. This was the freshman’s third near-death experience in little over a month. He wasn’t handling it as well as Jackson was pretending to do. 

Outside, the party was breaking up. It had begun to rain. 

Scott pried himself away from Liam. “While we were out, I’ve got a text from Kira. She’s going to meet me in a bit at the clinic, but first I’m going to take Liam to my house and get cleaned up. Malia and Jackson, you should do the same.”

“They can do it at the loft. We’ve got clothes for them there.”

“Yeah,” Malia groused. “I don’t know how I’d get the scent of this much fuel past my dad.”

Scott asked both Malia and Jackson once more if they were okay before he vanished with his baby beta. Jackson and Malia followed Braeden and Derek back to the loft where Derek did have clothes for them. Jackson was definitely not going to talk about how weird that was with his cousin. He was pretty sure it was Derek being a good member of the pack. 

Or maybe just a good friend.

Jackson took his shower first, letting Malia in after he was done. It was only afterward that he realized that perhaps he should have let her go first, but then he put that thought away. He was older than her by a good six months, and if they had grown up as siblings in the same house, he wouldn’t have let her take the shower first, so why should he now.

“Where do you hide your hair products?” Jackson complained loudly, finger-combing his hair. “Because there aren’t any in the bathroom, and no one’s hair looks like yours without using _something._ ” He trailed off as Derek was looking glum. “What is it?” 

Derek looked grim. “Lydia and Stiles discovered who the Benefactor is.”

**********

Lydia was sitting outside the sheriff’s private office in the station. Jackson could smell the exhaustion as he came closer. However, her face was set in a determined glare, and she seemed no worse for wear.

“Lyds.” He came up to her and took her by the forearms. “Are you okay? Where’s Stiles?”

“I’m fine. Stiles is fine, too.” She downplayed it as much as she could. “He might have a concussion.”

Jackson felt his vision go red. “He can’t possibly have a concussion!”

Lydia faltered. “What? Why not?”

“Because you have to have something up between your ears to concuss!” Jackson was livid. 

Lydia scoffed at him. “He’s at the hospital being checked out. I would tell you to go visit him, but I think you need to calm down first. We weren’t doing anything that dangerous.”

“He knew … he _knew_ that I’d be upset if he went there without someone to watch his back!”

The banshee raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

“You know what I mean! Someone who could protect him!”

Jackson wasn’t doing himself any favors. He went on before Lydia could give him a concussion.

“Lyds, that place holds bad memories for him — and for you as well.” Jackson backpedaled. “I don’t think that you guys …”

“Jackson. I think this is pretty sweet, but we’re not helpless, and we won’t treated as helpless by anyone, not even our boyfriends or our ex-boyfriends.” She pulled him to sit down on the bench next to her. “I think your heart’s in the right place, but there’s a limit to what you can do.”

“I disagree, obviously. Stiles got hurt.”

“Yes. And he’s going to keep getting hurt. You can’t stop it unless you make him stop being involved.”

Jackson felt his face set mulishly.

“And you’ve been the one who’s been telling him that he has to take what happened to him and make it part of himself. He’s taken that to heart.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“No!” Lydia was exasperated. “Well, yes, but it’s not a fault. You’ve done more than anyone to get us Stiles back — our Stiles, not the frantic, self-loathing, paranoid mess who loved to lash out at people at the drop of a hat. You know, the one that the nogitsune left us with. Haven’t you noticed? He’s Stiles again, or as close as he’s going to get.”

“Well, that’s what I told him.”

“And you’re a doll for doing it.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “I was missing a Stiles something fierce. But this new Stiles has some things in common with the old Stiles. He’s not going to sit on the sidelines and play it safe, especially if he can make the winning goal.”

Jackson snorted. “This is not a game.”

“It is to Stiles. And that’s not a bad thing. We can’t all be motivated by our compassion like Scott. We can’t all be motivated by self-improvement like you. Stiles sees his worth in convincing others that he’s useful and clever. That means he’s not going to stop, and that means he’s going to get hurt. And that’s not anyone’s fault — not yours, not Scott’s — and it’s not anyone’s responsibility but Stiles’.”

“That’s not going to make me feel any better.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Jackson fidgeted angrily on the bench. He would have to talk to Stiles and try to get him to see that this was just unacceptable. Stiles had to have understood by now how important he was becoming to Jackson. It was not Jackson’s fault that Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. It was not Jackson’s fault that Stiles could be so vulnerable to the monsters that were going to keep showing up. If he cared about Jackson, he was going to have to take better care of himself.

His own thoughts caught up with him. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just caught myself being a hypocrite.”

Lydia tilted her head to the side. “Go on.”

“I was thinking that it was selfish of him to keep doing that, but what I’m doing is putting my needs and fears above what he needs to do, what he wants to do. And here, I was so adamant that his insecurities weren’t a reason for me to stop sleeping with Scott.” 

Lydia pursed her lips to indicate that it was pretty obvious.

“I’m going to apologize.”

“You’re going to stop sleeping with Scott?” 

“No.” Jackson shook his head. “But I was treating what Stiles was saying about it as unreasonable, and I just spent five minutes bitching about his behavior unreasonably. We’re going to have a real conversation about both topics.”

“I think that’s all people really want.” Lydia turned to watch the sheriff and the investigators grilling Meredith in Noah’s office. “Someone to listen to what they have to say.”

“She’s really the Benefactor?” Jackson couldn’t believe it. He’d not met Meredith himself, but from all reports she was fragile and bird-like. She didn’t seem like a person who could arrange the murders of three dozen supernatural creatures and fake her own death. He understood why Lydia was so fixated on her; Meredith had been the only other banshee that she had met. 

“It seems like it.” Lydia’s voice was full of regret. 

“Why so sad?”

“I can’t help but wonder if my grandmother …”

“Hey. Your grandmother made a mistake, and she didn’t do it out of malice or out of negligence, but out of an attempt to understand what was happening to her. As we just find out, people like you and me make mistakes.” 

“I don’t even know if Meredith can be held accountable. She doesn’t seem stable.”

“I don’t know either. All she seemed to want to do is …” Jackson paused and then burst out laughing.

“What?” 

“She told us.”

“Who? Meredith?” 

“Yeah. You’re the linguist. Where does the word ‘Benefactor’ come from?”

“To do good, to help …” Lydia shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

They both had a good laugh together. They needed it.


	28. Monstrous (Part 1: Like Math)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson helps Scott and Kira gather Satomi's pack in one place, but before he can help protect him, he and Stiles have to have a talk at the hospital.

When he left Lydia at the police station, the first thing that Jackson wanted to do was hurry to the hospital. Not only did he want to see how Stiles was doing, but he also wanted to talk to him about their relationship and what he wanted out of it. Stiles had to be reassured that he cared what he thought, at the very least.

But he was in the car and he had the key in the ignition when he got a text from Kira. She’d located both Brett and Satomi, and she asked him to contact Satomi and bring her and her pack to the Animal Clinic. For half a moment, Jackson seriously thought about saying no and continuing on to the hospital. He had been assaulted and nearly burned alive earlier that evening; he felt he could be forgive for doing something he wanted to do. Yet, he stopped himself; part of getting better was being able to prioritize. Stiles might be concussed, yet he could also wait. Satomi and her pack might be being hunted right then.

Grumbling, Jackson followed the directions of his GPS to a relatively new housing development in the southeastern part of town. Relatively new was not entirely accurate; houses there had been under construction when the bottom had dropped out of the market in 2008. It had not picked back up afterward, and there was no plan to complete it. 

The rainstorm started up in earnest, turning the night sky darker. He parked before what would have been a four bedroom, split-level ranch house, but it had been abandoned mid-construction. In this weather it would be drafty, cold, and uncomfortable. But if you were on the run, comfort wasn’t your priority. This derelict site would be a good hiding place.

He stepped out of his Porsche, pulling an umbrella out from under the seat as he did so. Yeah, he was a werewolf, but that didn’t meant that he liked getting wet. Jackson carefully made his way through the overgrown front yard to the front door. It had been hung but the hardware had not been installed, so it could be locked. He pushed it open with one hand. “Hello?” He tried to make his voice sound confident yet non-threatening, but it echoed in the dark interior like he was an extra in a horror movie.

Suddenly, ten pairs of eyes glowed back at him — nine of them shone golden yellow and one stood out as a deep, fierce red. 

Jackson held up his free hand, palm out, and brandished the umbrella in the other. He felt his eyes glow blue in return, but he promised himself he wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. “Hey. Everyone be cool. My name is Jackson Whittemore, and I’m from the McCall pack.”

An old woman who looks like she should baking cookies rather than leading fugitives came out of the darkness. It would have been funny if her eyes hadn’t been the pair glowing alpha red. “I am Satomi.” 

Jackson had heard the story of the nogitsune from Stiles in the middle of the night, when his boyfriend was restless and unable to sleep. This woman must have been over a century old, but she didn’t look any older than fifty. She’s on the run from her assassins and she’s been reduced to hiding what remains of her pack in an abandoned, half-completed house. Yet while Jackson can smell the fear from the betas, from the alpha, there is only serenity. And power.

“You know that you’re all on the Dead Pool. My alpha thinks it’s reached the point where we’re safer together than trying to fight off these assassins by ourselves. We’re trying to gather all of the supernaturals left in town into a single location where we can protect each other while we try to figure out how to stop all of this.”

Satomi hesitated. “We’ve been trying to leave, but we haven’t been able to evade the assassins. I don’t know if what your alpha proposes will work; my pack aren’t fighters.”

Jackson saw her line of reasoning, but Scott had prepared him with an answer. “You don’t need to be. We have enough fighters. Simply being together will discourage amateurs and the more cautious assassins. It won’t be forever.”

“How do you know that?” A nameless beta challenges him. Satomi doesn’t rebuke the man; she wants to know that as well.

“While we haven’t stopped the money, Sheriff Stilinski has the Benefactor in custody. It’s only a matter of time before we track down how she was paying everyone and stop the killings.”

Jackson believed it. He had to. 

Satomi let out a little sigh of relief. “Your alpha is willing to help guard my pack?”

“Yeah. He’s like that.” Jackson shrugged. “If you know anyone else that could be on that list, that isn’t here, you should let them know as well.”

Satomi looked back to her pack. She wasn’t the type of give commands without trying to understand where the rest of her pack stood. Silence held sway in the darkened house, leaving only the sound of the rain on the roof. 

Finally, an older male beta spoke. “I’m sure he wants to help, but can your alpha protect us?”

Jackson paused before answering. On the surface, he could be take it as an insult. It wouldn’t be just Scott that was protecting them. Malia, Kira, Liam, Derek, and even he would be fighting to keep these people alive. But it wasn’t meant as an insult. It was the instinct of the wolf to acknowledge a certain truth — the strength of the alpha is the pack, and the strength of the pack is its alpha. He’d learned that from Alexandrina, who took it just as seriously as Scott did. 

“Yes. He certainly can. You have my word on that.”

**********

Satomi’s pack had made themselves as comfortable as they could be in the narrow confines of the animal clinic. They were reluctant at first to enter the place; they could sensing the power that worked its way through the walls. Dr. Deaton was not there; Jackson could not read him on the phone. He was concerned until he found a note left for Scott that revealed that Deaton was driving to Idaho to see a druid who might have an idea what was happening to Derek.

Jackson nodded. Deaton could be helpful in a fight, but if he could find a way to stop whatever curse or transformation Kate had cast on his cousin, that was a better use of his time.

“I’m sorry it’s not top of the line accommodations, but it’s …”

“It’s more than enough, thank you.” Satomi was nothing if not polite.

Jackson tried to think of something reassuring to say, but he had already said his best lines when he convinced them to come here. Caring was Scott’s suit anyway; why should he try to be comforting? Scott was on his way, so he could handle the pep talks. 

He was saved from more awkward time passing when he heard a car pull up. He heard the front doorbell ring. Jackson recognized Kira’s scent immediately which relaxed him, and he remembered Brett Talbot’s scent along with one other. His relaxation vanished when he smells blood as well. “Wait here, please.”

It could be nothing, but it would make Jackson look foolish if he promised protection and they were attacked immediately. He stepped out of the back room, muscles tensed for a fight. However, it was just Kira, Brett, and a blond girl he did not recognize, but who smelled as if she was related to Ito werewolf. 

“What happened?”

Kira came up to him, soaked to the skin, with her katana strapped to her back. “Hunters tried to get Brett and Lori at the school. Oh, yeah, Jackson this is Lori, Brett’s sister.”

“Hunters?” Jackson nodded to the new girl. He identified that it was Brett that had been injured. “Your alpha is in the back if you want to get that looked at.”

Brett obviously remembered their spat on the field, for he simply nodded and took his sister in the back room.

“They had laser guided crossbows and everything!” Kira was exhilarated. 

“How many?”

“I’d say a dozen.” 

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you get away?”

“Oh, Brett and I fought them off.” Kira said it with so little guile and so little awareness of just how impressive it was that Jackson just had to smile. 

“Well, if you fought them off …” He cocked his head as he heard the sound of a motorcycle. “Scott’s here.”

Scott was just as wet as Kira was. He must have been driving through the rainstorm. He took off his helmet the moment he walked in. “Did you find them?”

“They’re in the back.” Jackson nodded in that direction.

“All of Satomi’s pack.” Kira chimed in. 

“Your girlfriend here fought off a bunch of hunters.” Jackson had to put that in.

Kira looked at him and blushed. She turned back to Scott who was looking seriously impressed. But then again, the alpha always looked seriously impressed with the kitsune. He stepped forward and like some sort of Hallmark romance hero took her in his arms and kissed him. Jackson turned away and rolled his eyes. 

“How are you?” Scott asked, sincerely. 

“I’m fine. Jackson helped, too.”

Scott let Kira go, stepped over and grabbed Jackson by his upper arm in a firm grip. 

“If you kiss me, I will slug you.” Jackson threatened, half-jokingly. 

“Thank you.” Scott’s voice hummed with sincerity. Jackson had to fight off another eye-roll. 

“Where’s Liam?” He asked the alpha instead.

“I took him home. That’s why I’m late.”

Jackson looked about the room. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s not ready.” Scott sounded sad but resolute. “The fight at the hospital scared him a little.” 

“He’s worth ten million dollars.” 

“I know that,” Scott admitted. “The sheriff has a car watching his house, so I wasn’t going to force him to come. I think that while it’s safer for all of us to be together in one place, there’s a possibility there’s going to be a fight. He doesn’t have to be there if he doesn’t want to be.”

“We didn’t have a choice.” Jackson said it quietly. 

“You’re right.” Scott jaw set firmly. “Which is exactly why I’m going to make sure he gets one.”

Kira broke in between them, misinterpreting shared memories for tension. “There’s someone who wants to meet you, Scott.” She took him by the hand and led him into the back room. Jackson followed along after. 

The members of the Ito pack looked up at Scott as he came in. Just as Jackson sensed the power of Satomi, her betas sensed Scott’s power. 

Kira went up to the old woman. “Satomi, this is who I was telling you about.”

“I know who Scott McCall is.”

**********

Melissa was pretty easy to find at the hospital. Everyone there knew who she was and had an idea of where she should be. Jackson couldn’t quite be sure what her position was there – except everywhere. When he finally got her for a moment alone, he said as much.

“Oh. You didn’t know? I’m Head of Nursing.” She walked down the hallways, checking patient charts for some reason. 

“I thought that was an administrative position. Wouldn’t that mean you sat in an office and did stuff like writing out schedules and filling out evaluations.”

She took one look at him and then lost it. Melissa nearly doubled over laughing.

“So you don’t do that?”

When she stopped laughing, she took a deep breath. “No, I do that, too, but we’re so understaffed that I don’t have time to sit in an office and do that. I do everything an average nurse does, anywhere in the hospital that needs it, _and_ I fill out reports, schedules, and evaluations.”

“Geez. Wouldn’t you be paid more?”

Melissa completely lost it, once again. It seemed to be something funny that Jackson didn’t understand. Eventually, she could draw breath again.

“What can I do for you, Jackson?”

“I heard Stiles was in the hospital. I came to see him.” 

Melissa didn’t even blink. She must have heard they were dating from Scott. “He’s being held for observation, somehow. That boy doesn’t know how to take care of himself, you know that right?”

“Believe me I know. Can I see him?”

“It’s past visiting hours …” Melissa hesitated. “Hell, it’s not like I haven’t broken every other rule in this hospital. And maybe you can get him to rest. Good knows Malia and I haven’t.”

“Malia’s here.”

“Yeah, she’s been trying to get him to rest for an hour. He’s stubborn.”

“You’re telling me.”

Melissa suddenly made a gesture. “Wait a minute, they told me that you were most likely with Scott, helping out this other pack … weren’t you?”

“Scott and Kira’s on it. I just wanted to stop by. There’s something I really need to talk to him about.”

The nurse raised both eyebrows. 

“We kind of had a fight, and I was right, but I was right in the wrong way. If you understand what I mean.”

“Not really, no.”

“What I said was right, but I could have said it better.” Jackson shrugged helplessly. “I took his feelings for granted.”

Melissa chuckled. “People usually wait to do that until they’re married, or else I’ve been single too long. Follow me, I’ll take you there.”

Stiles was fiddling with an old-fashioned boom box. Listening to something on it that sounded like a woman speaking. Malia was sitting next to him, trying to piece together what was going on. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Shhhhh.” Stiles flailed one hand at him. Malia turned to him and offered him a warmer welcome. 

“Okay. Malia, what’re you doing?”

“We’re listening to a tape.” She points at the tape player. 

He was going to wear his eyes out rolling them as long as he was in this pack. “I can see that. What tape and why?”

“ _Shhhhhhhhh!_ ” Stiles said again, more insistently. 

“It’s the tape Brunski made when he killed Lydia’s grandmother. He was a serial killer!” She said it with just a hair more enthusiasm than she should have.

“That I did not know. Why are you listening to it?”

Stiles had had enough. He snapped the playing off. “Because there’s something about it that I think might give us a clue to stopping the Dead Pool, but I can’t put my finger on it, and I won’t be able to put my finger on it until I actually get a chance to listen.” He snarled, but it was the type of anger he only possessed when Stiles couldn’t figure out the mystery and felt that time was of the essence.

“You have a concussion; you should be resting.”

“That’s what Melissa said!” Malia added, reprovingly. She’d probably been arguing with Stiles as well.

“I can’t just stand here …”

“Then sit!” Jackson said crossly. 

The two of them locked gazes at each other, and then finally Stiles threw himself down on the bed. “What are you doing here?”

Jackson swallowed. This was not how he saw this going. “I wanted to talk to you. Malia, could you give us the room for a moment.”

“I need Malia!” Stiles protested. “She’s willing to help —”

“This won’t take long, but we have something we have to talk about it, and I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I’ll run downstairs.” Malia stood up and left the room. “I’ll get us something to drink, while I’m gone. I promise I won’t listen.”

Jackson came and sat down on the bed while Malia left. Stiles shifted so they were sitting side-by-side. 

“Well … we had a discussion a few days ago.”

“We talk a lot, Jacks. You’ll have to be more specific.” Stiles was still in a prickly mood after his detective work had been interrupted. Jackson wasn’t one to begrudge him that.

“We do. I was talking about the time when I … when I said you were being unreasonable.” 

Stiles got an impish look in his eye. “I’m unreasonable a lot, so narrow it down.” At Jackson’s frustrated expression, he relented. “I remember that conversation.”

“I was wrong.” Jackson quickly followed it up with some elaboration. “I wasn’t wrong with my decision, I was wrong in the way I expressed it to you. And I’d like to try again, because as much as I made the decision for me, I just … I guess I just imagined that if it was important to me — very important to me — it would be important to you as well. I guess I didn’t really take your feelings into account.”

“I guess you didn’t.”

“So, I want to try again. First things first.”

“First things first?”

“Before I tell you why I made the decision I made, I want you to tell me how you feel. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, don’t tell me what you think will get you what you want. Tell me how you feel.” Jackson kept his voice level. 

Stiles looks at him. “Do you think we have time for this?”

“You told me what Scott said at the PSATs. While we’re trying not to die, we still need to live, so I’m making time for this.”

Stiles sat there on the bed, looking down at his jeans. Jackson remained quiet; he was much better at that than Stiles was. He wouldn’t push. Stiles would tell him how he felt or he wouldn’t, and then Jackson would get to say his piece.

“I’m not like Scott.” Stiles began slowly. “I’m not talking about being a werewolf. I’m not even talking really about being a hero or even being a good person. Sometimes, I worry about that, but sometimes I simply don’t care. But the point is — Scott expects good things to happen. If he treats that dog with kindness, it won’t bite him.” 

Jackson wasn’t sure that was entirely true anymore, but he didn’t interrupt. The point wasn’t to argue.

“When he met Allison, he told me a lot about how cool she was. He was confident he could win her heart, and wowie-zowie, he did. It was … I was jealous. Not because I didn’t want him to be happy, because I was sure it couldn’t happen to me.” Stiles turned to look at Jackson. “Do you know why I was so fixated on your ex-girlfriend for so long? Because she was safe.”

Jackson’s face must have shown his disbelief.

“She was, Jacks! There was no chance that she even knew who I was, let alone that she would consent to grace me with her favor. So when I tried to get her attention, and I did try, her rejection didn’t sting that much, because I _expected_ it. It hurt but it was a … I liked the way it hurt.” 

Jackson was about to protest but, in a flash of insight, he understood. He nodded so Stiles would go on.

“So now, it’s the same. You want to date me, and that’s wonderful, but it’s not something I expected. But do you want to know what part of me does expect?” Stiles looked up at him, finally, through his lashes.

Jackson could guess this. “That I’m only dating you until something better comes along.”

“Right!” Stiles made the points-scored gesture.

“And no matter how many times I tell you that I’m not doing that. No matter how many times I show you that what I do with Scott is not anywhere near the same thing I do with you, there’s always a part of you that won’t believe me.”

“Again, right. Doing amazing, Jacks.” Stiles looked back down at his jeans. “Working it out in my head doesn't help, because I have! I know how much time you spend with me. I know the things you whisper in my ear in the middle of the night. And yet, there’s that part that’s waiting for the truth.”

Stiles fell silent. Jackson waited at least five minutes before he started speaking. 

“Thank you.” 

Jackson decided to be romantic and took Stiles' hand. It was just as good that no one is in the room. 

“I’m not going to tell you that what you’re feeling isn’t valid. I know that promising anything isn’t going to make that feeling go away. I just have to tell you how I’m going to react to that feeling.” Jackson took a breath. “It’s going to be pretty long.”

Stiles squeezed his hand and laughed. “Did you write it out on notecards?”

“No. Memorization.”

Stiles chuckled. “Get on with it then.”

“After my parents told me I had been adopted, I wanted … I demanded to know where my real parents were. I was such a dick, but I was a child. They told me that my parents had died in a car wreck and I felt cheated. I felt abandoned. When I was alone, I tried to imagine who they were and what life would have been like living with them. Of course, being young and stupid, I created a perfect fantasy world, and I blamed not having that perfect world on David and Ellen.” 

Stiles nodded. He must have learned from his father how he reacted to the news. 

“Soon after that, I had turned my birth parents into these unbelievable idols of wisdom and riches and looks. The illusion became so real to me, these creations, that I started imagining that they would be disappointed with my life. They would judge David and Ellen. They would judge me. Even though I knew they weren’t real they had real effects on me – they were phantoms. You can’t satisfy phantoms.”

“The effects started out harmlessly enough. It was actually pretty useful to have these imaginary people as a way to motivate myself. I imagined them pushing me to be the best, and I succeeded. I imagined them pushing to have the best girlfriend, to be the best student, to be captain of the lacrosse team, and I did. But the more I imagined, the more I discovered that nothing was ever good enough for them _or for me._ ”

“When Scott joined the team, I felt threatened.” Jackson gently pushed Stiles when the other boy mouthed _No!_ “Take this seriously. I sabotaged him, even though I knew it would hurt the team. I blackmailed him with exposure, with him being discovered by hunters, with him losing _his_ girlfriend. You know I offered Allison to him as a reward, like a piece of meat, if he got me the Bite? These were terrible things I did. For phantoms.”

“I didn’t stop there. I put myself in harm’s way repeatedly. I followed Derek in the middle of his Brutal Stalker Werewolf phase to an abandoned house in the middle of the woods. I kept running headlong into hunters, virtually confessing I wanted to be a werewolf. I sold Scott out to Chris Argent after Scott had saved my life. I could have died many times. I could have gotten Scott killed. For phantoms.”

Stiles took a deep breath. He had been there.

“And when I finally got what I wanted, it turned out to be a nightmare. It didn’t make me better than anyone, it made me … you know what it made me. And even when I wasn’t killing nine people, I was still a selfish asshole to people who tried to help me.” He pointed at Stiles to make sure that he knew he was being included in that. “To people who cared about me. And it didn’t satisfy the phantoms one bit.”

“Instead, I became a slave to people who had phantoms of their own. Matt had let what Coach Lahey and the others did to him eat him up from the inside. Something beyond his control had transformed him into a pile of seething resentment and entitlement. Was it any wonder I was drawn to him?”

“You weren’t like Matt!” Stiles protested. Jackson had to stifle a chuckle. Stiles was always so quick to defend others when someone other than himself criticized them. 

“Wasn’t I? You and Scott could have been sent to jail because I was pissy. I was so in denial that I hadn’t got what I wanted that I wouldn’t tell anyone that I was losing time.” 

Stiles crossed his arms in irritation. 

“I know what I did, Stiles, I’m not going to pretend I didn’t do those things. But I’ve not only learned that these phantoms aren’t real – they were never real – but also that the truth is I don’t really want to live up to my birth parents. My biological father is a murdering scumbag. My mother abandoned me, but I won’t blame her. Can you imagine having a kid with Peter Hale? I did all of those things for nothing. And why? Because I let my insecurities take over. I let these phantoms control my life. If I am better, if I want to stay better, I can’t let that happen again. I _won’t._ ”

“Now, I have you. I spend more time with you than anyone else. We don’t actually do much, but the funniest thing is that I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me what we do when I’m with you. We could stare at walls. I don’t know how your father manages to pretend that he doesn’t know we spend almost every night together; my parents have figured it out, but they’re so happy for me to be home and happy for me to be happy, that they don’t mind at all.”

“I guess my father’s the same way.” Stiles admitted. “It’s hard … him and I don’t talk about emotional stuff unless it’s a crisis.”

Jackson bit his lip. He wasn’t going to intervene in the Stilinski family relationship. “All I know is that you’ve made me happy. I care about that. I care about you.”

“I know that, Jackson.” 

“I also care about Scott, but not in the same way. What we – me and him – do together is good for me, and it’s good for him, and I enjoy it. I told you I wouldn’t give it up for you, because your demands were unreasonable. That was wrong of me to say.”

“I understand.” Stiles shifted over on the bed. 

“You shouldn’t have to understand. So let me put it the way I should have put it, instead. I made my rejection about you, when it wasn’t. It’s about me. I told you that whole long story because I need you to understand that I’m serious. I can’t afford to let my insecurities take me over again, and I can’t afford to let someone else’s do that, either.”

“If you can give me one good reason for me to stop with Scott, I will. But the reason can’t come from you feeling inadequate, because you aren’t. It can’ be because you don’t feel loved, because … I do.” Both of them swallowed at that. “It’s got to be something real. I won’t be controlled by phantoms again. Not even yours.”

They were still holding hands. In the quiet, they waited until Malia got back with the drinks.


	29. Monstrous (Part 2: Aren't We All?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson joins Scott and the others for the battle against rogue hunters at Argent Arms.

“You seem to be awfully okay with all of this.”

Chris Argent stood up from where he had placed the portable motion detector. “I can tell you right now Jackson, that I am very, very far from okay.” 

The man’s voice was gravel on fire. His body language made it seem like it was just another day, but there was a passion in his voice that made Jackson hesitate. The chemo signals that he was giving off were strong enough to fry eggs.

“We brought them here because it was a defensible location far away from any innocent bystanders.” Jackson felt the need to defend Scott’s decision. “The animal clinic was too small and too obvious for anyone who knew our pack, and it wouldn’t have stopped the hunters anyway. They were using laser-guided crossbows; who could tell what other type of armaments they had?”

“That’s not what I’m upset about.” Chris Argent stalked down the hallway and Jackson hurried to keep up with him.

“I know we should have called …” Jackson explained lamely. He didn’t know why he was wanting to make sure that Chris Argent wasn’t mad at him. Their relationship wasn’t what you would call a friendly one. Maybe it was because Argent was carrying a rather large assault rifle, and Jackson didn’t want to point it at him.

“That’s not it either.”

“It would make me feel more comfortable with this entire situation if you could explain to me why I have the impression you’re going to snap and fill me full of lead any second.”

Chris Argent sighed and turned to look at Jackson with a resigned expression, yet he still had a sharp aura of menace about him. “This.” He yanked the broken bolt that Kira had brought out of his jacket. “This is what I’m angry about.”

“The hunters?”

“They’re hunting for money.” Argent turned the bolt over and over in his hand. “It’s a mockery. It’s a disgrace.”

“Oh.”

“I hunted for twenty years before I came to Beacon Hills last year. I came here to give my daughter a chance to graduate high school like a normal teenager, yet I also came here because of the possibility that there was going to be trouble. The deer that Peter left for the police to find? The one with the spiral? We saw it, too.”

Jackson wasn’t sure where the man was going with this, so he stayed silent.

“I hunted for twenty years. Do you know how many werewolves and other people I called monsters I killed in that time period? You can’t possibly imagine it. I didn’t give a single thought to what I was doing. I didn’t give a single thought that maybe I had a bigger death tally than most serial killers. I believed in what we were doing. I believed in the Code.”

“The Code was enough to deprive my daughter of a normal childhood. The Code was enough for me to threaten an innocent boy because he might compromise my family. The Code was enough to let me blame Peter’s crimes on Kate.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “And these hunters …”

“This.” Chris shoved the bolt into Jackson’s face. “This is another betrayal in a string of betrayals. I knew Kate played fast and loose with the rules, but I didn’t realize she had raped a child as a means to an end, so she could burn innocent humans and werewolves alive! I know my father is a ruthless bastard, but I didn’t realize he’d toss every single ethical rule he taught me to the side just to prolong his life!” 

Chris was breathing heavily, so Jackson just stood there until it occurred to him. “Oh.”

“Right. That’s right. _Oh._ ” Chris gritted his teeth. “I told myself that my father and my sister were anomalies. That it was Gerard that was the corruption in our family, and he spread that corruption to my sister. But then this.” He threw the bolt so hard against the opposite wall that it stuck into the drywall. “This is an entire family. They’re not as old as mine. They’re not as known for their strict interpretations of the rules like the Calaveras. But they’re still an established hunting family that are hunting monsters …” Chris clenched one hand so hard his knuckles turned white. “Hunting _people_ for money, regardless of innocence. Regardless of the Code.” 

“Okay.” Jackson relaxed. “I was just hoping that you weren’t angry at us.”

“No. I’m not angry with you.” Chris Argent returned to his vigilant patrol. 

Jackson followed along. 

“I’m just protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

**********

Jackson left Argent at one of the entrances. The hunter was going to lock and then barricade as many entrances as possible in order to limit access to the building. Jackson had asked him what would happen if the coming battle went poorly, and they had to retreat. Argent had given him a dead-pan stare and walked away.

He understood. If they couldn’t hold the hunters here, it meant that there wasn’t going to be any place to retreat to. 

Surprise settled in Jackson’s forebrain; he thought, given that dire possibility, that he would start thinking of ways to get out of this. But he wasn’t, and as much as others said he had changed over the last months, he hadn’t though he had changed that much. He had never thought of himself as particularly brave before, and, in a moment of brilliant insight, he realized he still wasn’t particularly brave. He wasn’t going to stick this fight out on principle. He was going to stick this out because people he cared about — people he liked — were going to be here. 

Jackson was totally capable of leaving this factory building, catching up with Stiles and Malia, and helping them on their quest to find and end the payoffs, but he didn’t. He believed in what Scott was planning, and he liked Scott, Kira, Braeden, and Derek. They needed all the fighters they could get. 

Derek and Braeden were standing near Scott, talking about the lack of fighting skill in Satomi’s pack. It was true. Brett wasn’t bad as a brawler; lacrosse was a violent sport, so he knew how to use his body in a physical confrontation. Satomi was far more skilled because of her greater knowledge and experience. She could fight; she could kill. The other members of her pack, not so much. In fact, a lot of the things that Satomi had taught them — how to control their anger, how to hide — had become their instinctual reaction to any danger. They weren’t going to stand up and fight unless they were cornered, and that could be dangerous for anyone involved.

Braeden and Derek weren’t here because they were cornered. They were here because Scott had asked them to come here.

Jackson was just to about to go up to them when Brett challenged Scott over what would happen if the Dead Pool couldn’t be stopped. Scott was at a loss; it wasn’t surprising, because the idea of not being able to stop it wasn’t something that Scott could process. This wasn’t necessarily a bad trait. 

Derek took the reins over. He gave an inspirational speech — truly it was one of the few times that Derek had stretched together several sentences in a row — about punishing those who thought that they could take the lives of innocent people, supernaturals or not. Braeden emphasized the speech with her shotgun. It was impressive.

“That may have been the most words I’ve ever heard you speak in public,” Jackson observed after people broke apart into small groups. 

Derek responded with a wry smile and an eyebrow lift.

People assumed that Derek was uncommunicative, but it wasn’t true. Derek like to make his words count. He didn’t say twenty when five would do. As a born wolf, he was also used to other forms of communication besides speaking. Physical contact, scent, posture all could tell a werewolf just as much as words could. But Derek didn’t have those senses anymore. 

“What are you two doing here?”

Braeden nudged Derek with the butt of her shotgun. “I’m here because he wants me here.” Jackson noticed that she didn’t say anything about payment. From the scent he had gotten the last time he was at the loft, things were getting complex between the two of them.

“I’m here because Scott wanted me to be. He needs fighters.”

“But you … you’re vulnerable.” Jackson tried to say it lightly. He failed. 

“I’m not more vulnerable than Argent or Braeden,” Derek replied.

“And do I look vulnerable to you?” The mercenary raised her eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Derek reached out and patted Jackson on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

Braeden looked at Jackson and then, as if remembering, nodded. “Family’s complicated. Don’t worry about him, if it comes to the fight. I’ll keep an eye on this big loser.”

The look that Derek shoots Braeden can only be barely described as fond. It’s more like worshipful. Derek’s like Scott in many ways, but one of the biggest ways is how he falls in love like a ton of bricks. 

“Keep both of them on him,” Jackson instructs. Braeden’s eyebrow grows up.

As Jackson walks away, he hears Derek suggest to his girlfriend that it was a Lord of the Rings quote.

**********

Waiting again to be the worst part of any situation. If only life were like a television show, where you could skip through the long slow minutes of waiting for the violence to begin. Unfortunately in the real world you had to breathe through those moments. Jackson, never one who could sit for very long, took the time to check out the upper floor. It was there he saw something that annoyed him.

One of Satomi’s betas was standing at a large hallway window. It gave a great view of the city, as Argent Arms occupied a little rise. An observer could point out the neighborhood where the McCalls and the Stilinskis lived, the neighborhood where his house and the Martin’s house stood, the location of the animal clinic, the industrial building that held Derek’s loft, even the beginnings of the Preserve.

Jackson doubted that this was a coincidence. Of course the Argents would choose a place of business that gave them a commanding view of the town. It must have been one of the reasons that Scott moved the refugees here. 

But it went both ways. If the windows allowed someone to look everywhere, they could be seen from everywhere. The girl was standing in front of the window giving a perfect silhouette to any hunter that happened to be looking for her.

“You might want to step away.” Jackson snapped. “That may be the dumbest place to stand in the whole building.”

“Does it matter?” The werewolf turned away. “If they don’t get me here, they’ll get me somewhere else.”

“Well, aren’t you a little bowl of sunshine? What’s your name, Eeyore?”

“Lori.”

“Look, Lori. I’m sure the window is really great for brooding on the pointlessness of existence, but it also makes you an enormous target, and while I don’t care about you one way or the other, I’m sure there is someone in this building who does. So, do us all a favor …?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Oh, thank God. I was afraid they would take my card away. I’ve been far too nice; it was giving me hives.” 

She glared at him, but anger was better than despair. With an exaggerated gesture, like he was Vanna White showing a vowel, he led Lori away from the window and down towards where the other members of Satomi pack were waiting. Lori moved instinctively towards Brett, and that’s when Jackson realized they were siblings from the scent. 

It figured. “Hey, Wannabe Eurotrash, can you keep little sis from making herself a target?”

Brett flipped him off, but Jackson heard him interrogate Lori on what she had been doing. She was stubborn, surly, and uncooperative, which is how Jackson imagined all younger siblings would be. He didn’t have to imagine it anymore, did he? He had a slightly younger sibling in Malia — who was stubborn, surly, and uncooperative. 

The thought definitely brought a smile to his face. It was wiped away by Braeden’s cry of “Get back!”

Jackson wasn’t even facing the direction of the flash bombs, but the ringing they caused in his ears and the sting from the actinic light felt real enough. Jackson the Asshole fell away, and Jackson the Team Captain came to the fore. The mercenary hunters were using low-light vision, assault rifles, and body armor. There were no shouts, no declarations of intent; they opened fire and kept on firing.

The front lines formed up pretty quickly. Scott didn’t hesitate; he just plunged toward the nearest knot of killers. Kira was more circumspect, using the construction tarps throughout the floor to get close to them. The others formed up teams — Derek and Braeden, Argent and Satomi — and took up choke points to keep the gunmen back. 

It was a good plan, for as long as it lasted. The older pairs would keep the majority of the assault team restricted to a particular avenue of approach, while the kitsune and the alpha would black that main path. It kept the unskilled and unready members of Satomi’s pack isolated for as long as possible.

Jackson had initially been reluctant to perform his role, but it made sense. He’d pick off enemies who split off from the main wave, trying to evade the primary defense — those hunters who decided to sneak around the big-ticket enemies and go for the easy pickings of Satomi’s pack. He would have to keep moving, constantly aware of the flow of the battle while tracking individuals as they broke off from the main attack force. Brett worked with him on this; the technique was very, very similar to identifying and countering plays on a lacrosse field, which suited both of their skills. They were tough and fast, but they couldn’t match Scott’s resilience, Kira’s offensive power, or the skills of the adults.

Jackson met one of the mercenaries soon enough. It was surprisingly easy to fight them. Their armor and their masks robbed them of their individuality, of their humanity — they were just like enemies in a video game. They bled for real though, and they fired real weapon. He barreled into his first target, holding nothing back. He felt bones break under his assault — his own ulna snapped with the force of it. The pain was sharp, but nothing he wasn’t used to on the field, and the gunman wasn’t getting back up any time soon.

The next killer was ready for him, though. He tried to cut Jackson’s feet out from under him with a spray of gunfire, but Jackson leapt up so it only grazed him on the calf — the burn of the shot was gone was almost immediately. With a shock born of surprise, Jackson clung to the low hanging roof. Muscle memory surged through him, a memory from the time he wore scales, and he scrambled along the ceiling. He dropped down right in front of the surprised hunter; this family obviously wasn’t used to werewolves employing that tactic. 

Jackson was close enough to see the man’s eyes through his helmet. The killer couldn’t help but give off the scent of fear along with the scent of aggression, but the assassin was practiced. He must have killed other creatures before, and he was looking forward to the money he’d get for gunning down helpless, pacifist werewolves who hadn’t killed, who didn’t even know how to kill. This man would put a bullet in him, in Lydia, in Malia, even in Derek or Stiles if they got in the way, and he wouldn’t lose a single moment of sleep over it. Jackson slashed his throat open without blinking.

Jackson wasn’t Scott. He knew he could kill.

The man dropped to the ground and Jackson ran onto the next target. He knew he’d think about the man later, maybe he’d even break down about it, but it’s not everyone who can feel sorry for a person pointing a machine gun at them. 

Eventually, the defensive plan broke down as all plans do under battlefield conditions. On the other hand, the offensive plan broke down as well. The general melee was becoming dangerous for both sides. Jackson rushed out to where Scott was fighting. The alpha had been shot at least three times and blood was covering his shirt and jacket, though the wounds were still healing. Jackson’s leg wound was almost gone.

“Make sure everyone falls back!” Scott shouted at him, his voice rough with fangs. Jackson realized with a moment that Scott’s eyes shone deep read and the sclera had turned black. Fine hairs had sprouted across his face and hands, turning his skin gray. 

As Jackson did as he was told — and in the rush of battle, it had become instinctual; he guessed that the alpha-beta bond had fully set — he saw Scott charge across his field of vision. The transformation grew deeper, grew darker — Scott was near the terrible alpha form that Peter had when he was a deranged monster tearing across Beacon Hills. He tossed hunters around like chess pieces. He lifted one up and slammed on the table.

Jackson hesitated; Scott looked ready to kill him. Well, it had to happen sometime.

**********

Scott and Jackson decided that they’d work together to make sure that the mercenary hunters had retreated. They would sweep the area around Argent Arms, and then they’d check the pack’s houses, the Sheriff’s station, and finally they check the homes belonging to Satomi’s pack. That pack — who had lived up to their reputation as not very good fighters — would remain protected by Kira and Satomi at the abandoned factory, while Derek, Braeden, and Chris would be busy getting rid of the dead mercenaries.

Scott had stood silently to one side while the casualties were checked over to make sure they weren’t still alive. The mercenary hunters had taken the walking wounded with them, but there were still nine of them who would never hunt again. Scott himself was steal healing; Jackson easily counted at least five separate gunshot wounds to the alpha. Scott’s face was stony, but his eyes were an uneasy mixture of fear and sorrow. 

Jackson walked up to him, but he didn’t know what to say to break the ice. He’d only been shot once. 

“Ready?” Scott asked, shortly. “Then let’s go.”

“We could wait if you still need to heal …”

“I’m fine.” Jackson had never heard Scott’s sound like that. Rough and short. 

They left the building and, as they do so, Jackson heard a harsh breath escape from Scott’s lungs. Together they traced the passage of the hunters — where they came in, where they left. After a few minutes of it, they’re both confident that the hunters aren’t in the area anymore. 

Jackson and Scott had made their way back to where the vehicles were parked, before Jackson had had enough.

“Okay, for a person who just saved every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills, you’re looking pretty gloomy there, boss.”

Frankly, it wasn’t Jackson’s best foray into sarcasm, but he had recently been shot at. A lot.

“It wasn’t just me who did it.”

“No, it wasn’t, but that’s not what I said. I saved every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills as well, and I’m feeling pretty good right now. So did Malia, and Lydia, and Stiles, and everyone else on your side. And I bet they’re happy. You’re the leader; this wouldn’t have happened without you. So, would it hurt you to smile?”

Scott turned to him. “People are dead, Jackson.”

“Yep. Tragic.”

“They were human beings.”

“They were assassins who shot at us with assault rifles. Am I happy they’re dead? No. Am I gonna cry about it? No.” 

Without another word, they got into the Porsche. Scott was still pensive, but they had a job to do, so Jackson drove to the Whittemore house first. They hadn’t determined the order in which they were going to visit the homes and it was his car, so he’d get first choice. Scott didn’t object. They did a close circuit of the house, then Jackson went inside and checked with his parents while Scott did wider sweep. Nothing.

Scott was leaning up against the car when Jackson came out. 

“You know …” Jackson began. Then he hesitated. Was this the time? Probably not, but Scott’s attitude was annoying him. “You know, I can’t believe you.”

“Me? What can’t you believe?”

“Your attitude tonight. You’re a soft touch, but not that soft.”

“Maybe I am …”

Jackson sneered. “Oh, you care about those assassins as people — yeah, yeah, yeah — but you’re not fooling me. There’s something else bothering you. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s your call, but I’m going to be freaking annoyed all night while you pretend you’re okay.”

That made Scott roll his eyes, which was admittedly what Jackson was hoping for. It was better than barely-suppressed turmoil. Both of them got into the car.

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

“No.” Scott shuddered, almost imperceptibly. “No. I came close.”

Jackson drove down the street towards Lydia’s house. She was the next closest building. The silence stretched on as they went down the road. Finally, Jackson turned to Scott while waiting at a stop light. “ _And?_ ”

Scott was looking out the window, away from Jackson. “I came close. Really close. I … wanted to. You saw me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I saw you. You were everywhere.”

“I looked like Peter did.”

“Oh.” Jackson snorted. “You kinda did. At least you didn’t have to get naked in front of everyone; that’s gotta be rough on the clothing budget. You were more — what’s the word? — compact. Your alpha form is more compact.”

“How can you be calm about this?”

“How can I be calm? Why aren’t you calm?” The car started up again, and it was hard for Jackson to keep an eye on the road when he kept turning to look at Scott. “Are you upset because you looked ugly? You weren’t near as ugly as Peter was. Oh. Oh, this _is_ about Peter again, isn’t it?”

“Again?”

Jackson shook his head. “You’re being shallow.”

“Shallow?”

“Repeating my words back to me makes you look kinda slow, Scott.” Jackson said it jokingly. “Do you think that even if Peter Hale could take his alpha form that he would have been anywhere near the battle tonight? If he could still take that form, would he have had made the key to his plan stalling professional hunters long enough for Lydia, Malia, and Stiles to figure out how to stop the money? If he had that power, do you think that there would have been only nine dead hunters? The answer to all those questions would be no. I saw you. I saw a bad ass save dozens of lives by tapping into the fullest expression of his own power. And you didn’t kill anyone.”

Scott looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

“Not to be flip, but _almost_ only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” 

“It scares me a little how … comfortable I was in that form. It felt like me. Clawing at that hunter, it also felt like me.”

“Well, yeah. You’re a werewolf!” Jackson laughed at Scott, openly. “Argent taught me something important tonight. Why and how you do something is just as important as what you do. You used your power — your full power that is yours by right as an alpha werewolf — and you used it responsibly to protect innocent people. You set your own lines, and you didn’t cross those lines. And yet you’re still bitching about it!”

Scott sat in the passenger seat, chastised. “You know, it was usually Stiles who gave me reality checks, but now it seems to be you. I think you’re what I’ve heard people call my Second.”

“I’m sure Stiles would give you as many checks as you needed.” Jackson wasn’t actually sure about that. He’d noticed the change in the way Scott and Stiles worked with each other. Maybe Stiles couldn’t be that any more, now that he often doubted his own … virtue. Jackson didn’t know why he had to fill the role, but part of him didn’t mind.

“Then if I’m going to be your Second, whatever the hell that means, than I have a warning for you. This isn’t going to stop. I don’t think it ever does for anybody, so one of the things that you have to stop is being your own worst enemy. You’re going to fuck up enough that you can’t afford to destroy yourself when you _almost_ fail.” Jackson pulled into Lydia’s driveway. “You’ve got to stop treating _victories_ like they were _losses._ ” 

Scott nodded. “You’re right.” 

Jackson reared back, offended. “There was some doubt about that? Come on, let’s go check on Natalie.”


	30. A Promise to the Dead (Part 1: You Do That by Coming Closer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dead Pool's over, right? So everything should be okay, right? Jackson tries to relax.

Sinema wasn’t anything like the Jungle. The club had an entirely different feel than its predecessor. The old black and white movies they projected everywhere made it distinctive. Of course, the club would eventually go away, the same way the Jungle had went away. Underground clubs with flexible admission policies opened all the time, lasted for two-to-three years, and then eventually closed their doors either voluntarily or forcibly. These clubs could stay open longer if they obeyed the law, but they wouldn’t make near as much money if they did so. Some owners preferred going for the quick and easy bank rather than working for long-term stability.

Jackson watched a waitress carry a tray of drinks that was almost too big for her through the club. She maneuvered among the clientele almost desperately, trying to protect herself and the drinks she was carrying from overly enthusiastic patrons. She was far too young to be working here; though her clothing and her long brown hair were done in such a way as to make her look older, she was probably a freshman. Jackson had nothing against the entrepreneurial spirit, but this was pure exploitation. He made a note to talk about it with David once his father was strong enough to go back to work.

He wasn’t here tonight to be a crusader. Tonight was about Danny and the wonderful complications of being Danny’s friend. In this case, it meant that he got to dance with a bunch of hot men (and men who thought they were hot), while keeping an eye on how much Danny had been drinking. He didn’t drink for obvious reasons, and when he was asked, he claimed he was the designated driver. From time to time, his dance partners got suggestive, but while he didn’t mind their flirting, he shut them down quickly and politely. 

He had always liked being everyone’s type, but none of the people in the bar were on Stiles’ level. He chuckled to himself that the world had changed so much that he thought that. Being treated as if he were attractive was always nice though.

Danny finally found him a little before eleven, looking tired and just a little buzzed. Jackson caught just a whiff of sadness of his friend, but he was definitely not going to make him talk about it. Danny might broach the subject of his own free will, eventually. “You ready to go?”

“Been ready.”

They had to sprint toward the car, as rain poured down over Beacon Hills. Danny had that loping gait that people who were just over the brink of intoxication had. Jackson followed slightly behind him, ready to catch him should he topple over. 

“You had fun right, Jackson?” 

“I did.” He wasn’t lying; he always enjoyed dancing for its own sake. 

“You should have brought your boyfriends.” 

“Boyfriend. Stiles is my boyfriend.” 

Danny looked at him askance as they got under the cover of the parking garage. “Sure.”

“Scott’s my alpha. There’s a difference, you know. Well, you can’t really know, but you couldn’t just like, trust me a little bit?”

His friend straightened up at the tone of Jackson’s words. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

Jackson decided to go easy on him, because, after all, Danny was drunk and it was a complex subject if you weren’t an actual werewolf. “I didn’t take offense. You push me; I push you. That’s what we do. But the difference between them is an important difference, and if we’re all going to hang out together, you need to be respectful to Stiles.”

Danny looked at him for a very long moment as a smile crept across his lips. “Are you serious? No, of course you are. But … you’ve never been respectful of anyone, and I’m just floored that you expect me to be.” Under Jackson’s heatless glare, Danny sobered a little. “I mean I’m happy for you. You really _are_ serious.”

“I am.”

Danny beamed at him. “I’m glad. And I’m also glad that all this craziness is finished.” 

Jackson felt the sea change in the conversation. He wished that Danny hadn’t brought it up, but he had, so there was no avoiding the conversation. “For now.”

They reached the Porsche and got in, Jackson driving and Danny gracefully sliding into the passenger’s seat. Danny’s smile died slowly as he watched Jackson as his friend pulled out of the parking lot and pulled down the street. 

“But you stopped the assassins.” He said at last.

“Yeah, we did.”

“So everything should go back to normal.” 

Jackson gave Danny an eyebrow with all the intensity a Hale could manage. “So what’s normal?” 

There was reluctant silence and then a quiet: “I get your point.”

Jackson slapped Danny on the shoulder. “Everyone our age faces change. One day, we’ll wake up to find that we’ve stopped being children; we’re suddenly going to be adults with all the bullshit that implies. Supernatural creatures are no difference. Our awakenings also happen to include lunar phases, blood spray, and computerized death lists.”

“I still don’t get that last one.”

“Get what?”

Danny looked like he was seriously pained by the topic. “How did those 1970s tape drives – they weren’t even used by IBM; why would Lorraine Martin not use her own company’s products — control the Dead Pool? How did they interact with modern Internet protocols and smart phones?”

Jackson didn’t know and didn’t care. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Must have been an adapter.”

The hacker’s eyes glazed over. “Jackson. Jackson. Jacksooooooon. Even if such a thing existed, who connected the adapter to them? How did a mental patient get behind the false wall in Lydia’s lake house? Did she hire someone? I’ll admit, I can see that a computer programmer in the 1970s could possibly have written a very complex program that would release information based on certain visual and verbal cues. That’s not hard. But it still doesn’t explain how the tape drives could handle input from the modern Internet. The only question more vexing is even if it somehow could happen, how were the police unable to track them back to the original address?”

“Danny, why does it matter?” 

“Because it doesn’t make any sense! None of it makes any sense!” Danny rested his head on the window. “How would Meredith know to which account to send the money, if she didn’t have access to the terminals.”

Jackson drove down the street. “I don’t know. Maybe she heard them.”

“Maybe … she … heard … them. This is going to bug me.”

“You should talk to Lydia then. Stiles and she are planning to take the towers apart piece by piece to see if Lorraine predicted anything else.”

Danny glanced over at him. “Am I being tempted?”

“That’s for you to decide, buddy. I said it before — you’re involved. How much you want to act on that involvement is entirely up to you, but to answer your earlier question, I’m not sure that everything is going completely back to normal quite yet. There’s a loose end.”

“What loose end?”

“Kate Argent.”

“Allison’s undead serial-killer aunt?” Danny shook his head firmly. “I’ll stick with the mystical telepathic forty-year-old computers, thank you. But didn’t she get what she wanted when she kidnapped Derek and de-aged him?”

“Well, the fact is she didn’t get what she wanted, so I don’t know if she’s actually done with all this bullshit. No one does.”

“That doesn’t freak you out, that she and her bone-clad monster thugs are out there somewhere?”

Jackson thought about it as they drove down the road to where Danny’s house was. “No. It doesn’t freak me out. She’s a psycho. She’s a powerful psycho. She’s strong, she’s fast, she’s a trained killer, and she’s ruthless. She controls berserkers who can flip over a car while taking multiple gunshots. But she doesn’t freak me out.”

Danny laughed out loud. “That entire statement also doesn’t make any sense.” 

“There’s more of us than there are of her. I know what I can do. I watched Scott take multiple gunshots and still beat the shit out of trained killers. We have experienced werewolves, a banshee, and a thunder kitsune in our pack. We have a tough-as-nails mercenary and Kate’s brother as allies. My boyfriend’s the cleverest person I know, and my best friend’s no slouch either. There’s more on our side than on her side, so I know where I’m betting my money.”

“Is this more of the new you?”

“Nope.” Jackson pulled into driveway. “I was _always_ a team player. And I _always_ play for the winning team.” 

Danny slides out of the car. “Well, count me on the team. I’m just a reserve player.”

“No, you’re more like a manager.”

“Fuck you, Jackson.” Danny was smiling though. “See you at the game the day after tomorrow.”

“It’s after midnight, so, technically, our chance to pound Devenford into the dirt is tomorrow night. Get some sleep. I want you wide awake when we bury you under an insurmountable point lead.” 

“Once again, fuck you, Jackson.”

Laughter rang out in the middle of the rainstorm.

**********

The flashpoint lilies were very expensive, but sometimes you had to pay for the best. They were beautiful and the scent was very pleasing, especially to him. Jackson could afford it, anyway.

“You brought me flowers.” Lydia blushed at the gift. She had never blushed when they were going out. 

“I thought you could use something beautiful.” 

“And you remembered that lilies are my favorite.” She took them from his hands and disappeared into the kitchen, probably with the intention to put them into a vase immediately. Jackson followed her, and there she was contemplating either an off-white china vase or a Waterford crystal vase. 

He leaned up against the kitchen counter as she made her deliberations. Natalie appeared from the living room and paused at the entrance to the kitchen; she gave him a polite smile. 

“Hello, Jackson. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Ms. Martin.”

“Settling back into school?” 

“There’s been some rough spots.” Jackson winked at Lydia. “But things are finally starting to settle down.”

“Mom! Look at what Jackson brought. Aren’t they lovely?”

“They’re beautiful.” Natalie retreated at that, a slightly puzzled look on her face. 

Lydia took the flowers with their vase and gestured for Jackson to follow her. They went up to her room. She placed them on her vanity. “They look great don’t they? Though they will probably make my mother think we’re dating again.”

The both laughed. It would be exactly like Natalie to think that. Lydia went to the bed and tapped the spot next to her. She wanted to talk, so he came and sat down beside her. 

“So, how are things with you? Anything new going on?” 

Jackson saw through this stratagem immediately. Lydia didn’t really care for lacrosse, and she knew everything he did about supernatural goings-on. “Are you trying to get me to talk about Stiles?”

Lydia winked at him. “Of course, I am. I haven’t gossiped for like … months. I’m going to enter withdrawal.”

“Stiles and I are fine. I’m meeting him tonight for a study date.” Jackson shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“I suspect not much studying is going to go on. You two are very cute together, but the sexual tension is off the charts.” 

“Lydia!” 

The red head bounced up from the bed, echoes of Old Lydia. “Everyone but me is in the mood for love. Scott’s got some ridiculous romantic evening planned for him and Kira at Derek’s loft.” 

“In Derek’s loft? Where is he going to be?”

“He’s taking Braeden … dancing.” 

“Which club?”

“No! That’s the best part.” Lydia twirls in joy like a ballerina. “He’s taking her ballroom dancing. I can’t tell which werewolf is being more disgustingly romantic.” 

Jackson had a little trouble seeing Derek doing the waltz to an orchestra. He had even more trouble seeing Braeden anywhere near that. “Okay.”

“I think ballroom dancing is amazingly beautiful, and it’s something you do when you stop dating teenage boys.” 

He crossed his arms. “Not that I’m jealous or anything, but do you have someone in mind? A certain deputy, perhaps?”

“Why Jackson!” She playfully messed his hair. “You have been paying attention.” She shook her head though as she sat down beside him. “It might happen, but not yet. I turn eighteen in six weeks. It’s not that I think I’m immature, but he’s a civil servant. Dating a minor would hurt his career. I’m going to help try to figure out what he actually is, but while I’m doing that, I’m also going to keep whatever romantic attraction there is on hold for a few months. I’ve decided it’s okay to be single. Focus on myself for a little while. Work on becoming a better person.”

“Don’t get mad, but that doesn’t sound like you.”

Lydia looked distant for a moment, distant but happy. “It’s not.” 

Jackson waited for a few moments before he decided to move into a not too happy discussion. “I heard you went to Derek’s loft last night.”

“I did.”

Lydia was calm though a little more subdued than she was a minute ago.

“You don’t seem upset about it.”

“That’s because I’m not. I was at first. I do hate the fugue state. I hate showing up somewhere and screaming like that, but I understand why the power tends to work the way it does.” 

Jackson tilted his head to the side. 

“When Stiles was possessed by the nogitsune, I misinterpreted information provided for me by my power. I was totally sure he was locked in Eichen House’s basement, when he was only there mentally, as that was the resting place of the nogitsune’s previous host and it was oddly attracted to it while torturing Stiles in a dream.”

“Okay.” The nogitsune really was a bastard.

“I led people to a place I was sure that Stiles was at, but he wasn’t. The next time I got a premonition, I sat on it. I doubted myself.”

Jackson took her hand, chastely. “That must have been a new experience for you.”

“The fact that you actually believe that is one of the reasons we are no longer dating. I’m a lot more insecure than I let on.” She was smiling though. “The fugue state prevents me from getting in my own way. If it happened every time I got one, it’d be annoying. But it doesn’t.”

“Still, you did show up at Derek’s loft in the middle of the night …”

“I did. It was fine. Braeden and Derek thanked me. It’s a warning, and Braeden’s not the type of person to neglect a warning freely given. Also, they were both … very attractive people.”

“Lydia!”

“I have _eyes._ ” She teased him. “But I was screaming for Derek. Have you talked to him yet?”

“No. I’m going to.”

“I think he’s very comfortable with the possibility of him dying. Perhaps too comfortable. He’s not giving up, but I also think he’s going to miss options that could increase his chances of surviving. It’s not guilt.” Lydia shook her head. “It’s not him dying for his family. I think he’s actually grateful. He’s been able to help. He’s got a real family again. He’s been able to be the brother he’s always wanted to be to Scott. He’s happy and safe with people who love him, so I think he feels that it would be all right if it was his time.”

Jackson feels irrational anger surge up. “It is not _all right._ ”

“Tell him that, Jackson.” 

“I’m glad that he’s moved beyond the guilt, now I want to make sure that you’ve done it as well.”

Lydia suddenly grew coy. “Whatever would I have to feel guilty about?”

“Meredith.”

“The Dead Pool wasn’t my fault.” She stated. “It’s Peter’s and hers. That she took my scream for Allison as the trigger does not make it so.”

“I know that. You know that. That’s not the guilt I’m talking about. I’m talking about the guilt about not being able to help her, not until it was too late.”

Lydia pouted.

“Come on now. You can tell me.”

“I can see how it must have been. I can see me being the same way.” Lydia picks at the edge of the coverlet on her bed. “Eighteen, scared of what I as hearing, scared of what I could do. I could see me drawing further and further away from everyone to protect them from what I heard, and that drawing away increasing my ability to hear, in a vicious feedback cycle. I could see myself vulnerable to someone like my grandmother, who understood just enough to be dangerous. I could see me start thinking that I was a monster.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I hate the idea of owing Peter Hale anything, but the timing of my power’s awakening was his fault. I wasn’t left to myself. I had people who may not have understood exactly what I was, but they understood that something was going on with me.”

“You don’t owe Peter anything. Not a damn thing. It’s not like you to confuse correlation and causation.”

“Jackson Marshall Whittemore, you did not just say that to me!” 

“A man using your potential for his own ends has no claims on the benefits of that potential manifesting.” Jackson ignored the middle-naming. He could tell she wasn’t really angry. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time they tried.”

Jackson kissed her hand. “And it will never work against you.”

**********

Helen knocked on the door of his room. “Jackson?”

“I’ll be down in a minute, mom.” He called back. He wanted to get this one answer done before dinner. He’d been working on his economic homework, which wasn’t due until the day after tomorrow, but he wouldn’t have any time at all tomorrow night with the game. 

“You have a visitor.” 

Jackson turned. “Oh. Well, come in.”

His mother opened the door to his room and it was Derek Hale with him. “Wow.”

Derek raised both eyebrows. 

“He came by to see you.” Helen’s voice contained several unanswered questions, including if Jackson wanted to see him. 

“Oh, come in, Derek. Mom, have you ever met Derek before?”

“No, not until today.” Helen was actually a very savvy social person, but she wouldn’t have met Derek before the fire. She probably did know Talia socially. 

“This is Derek Hale, Talia’s son.” 

“Oh!” She turned to him. “I heard you had come back. It’s nice to see you. I …” She paused. “I didn’t know you knew my son.”

“Derek’s been helping me a lot with things, Mom.” Jackson stood up. “Things … well, things that I haven’t been able to talk to you about that much. You know … stuff.” He had never gotten the hang of lying to his mother; he usually resorted to angrily storming about, but he didn’t want to do things anymore.

Derek stepped in. “Jackson has had some issues with losing family.” He said it slowly and carefully. “In a real way, I know where he’s at, and it’s easier for him to talk about this stuff with me than with you.”

“Oh.” Helen wasn’t slow. She remembered the fire. “Oh, I didn’t mean to pry, Jackson.” 

“You aren’t! You weren’t.” He tries to reassure his mother. “I’m just not ready to talk to you about it yet.”

“Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes. Will your friend be staying?”

Jackson looked at Derek, who shook his head. “I’ve got plans for this evening, ma’am.”

Helen gave them another small, polite smile and left them alone in the room. 

“Aw, geez, Derek, that was awkward. But it was really quick thinking anyway.”

“It is about family,” Derek replied, cool and casual. He was still open though. “And I am meeting Braeden for dinner.”

“Oh. Great. I heard about your date. Sounds … really cool.”

Derek suddenly blinks. “It is. It is cool. Well, I also stopped by because I talked to Lydia to make sure she didn’t think that I resented her for last night’s visit.”

“Oh, that’s good. We talked about it.”

“I know. You don’t have to worry about me, Jackson.”

“I beg to disagree.” He flops down on his bed and gestures Derek to a chair, which Derek declines because Derek has a natural tendency to loom and lurk. “Don’t ever change your Stalker Wolf tendencies. But you’re my cousin, and I don’t have many of those, and you’re the man who bit me, and I only have one of those, so I think I have a great many reasons to worry about you.”

“Lydia’s scream is a warning.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a prediction, but those predictions can be thwarted. Braeden and I are taking every precaution. In fact, she’s being a little bit obsessive about it. It’s disconcerting.”

“Good! Good. You should let her obsess over it.”

“It’s not that easy for me. I like being the one in control.”

“No shit.” Jackson poured all the humor he could into it. 

Derek returned with a sarcastic smile. “It takes some getting used to. Especially when I’ve had … problems with controlling women before.”

“Oh. That’s right.” Jackson flinched. He’s going to talk about Kate. “We don’t have to talk about Kate.”

“Yeah, we do. I haven’t forgotten that’s Kate back, and I certainly haven’t forgotten what Kate did to me.”

Jackson sat up straight. “Kate was a predatory bitch long before she could grow claws. Stiles told me what he figured out about exactly how she did what she did.” 

Derek struggled for a moment. “That’s right.” There was a long pause. “And then there was Jennifer.”

“I don’t know much about her, only what Lydia told me.”

“Jennifer, in a way, hurt a lot more than Kate, because … well, she actually cared about me. Even at her most bloodthirsty, she hoped that somehow we could be together. It’s why she stalled so long in killing the parents she had kidnapped.” 

“Wow.” Jackson thought that Derek was winding his way to the point. “I can’t imagine that.” He couldn’t. Matt and Gerard had used him as a tool and nothing more. 

“The tough part was that I did care for her, even at the end. I can understand both vengeance and the need to see something beyond vengeance.” Derek was not looking at him anymore. 

“Oh!” Jackson shot up. “Oh, that’s what this is about.”

“Yeah, that’s what this is about.”

Jackson fumed for a moment. “Can I ask why you think if you die due to whatever Kate did to you, that I’ll go after her?”

“It wouldn’t be just you: you, Malia and Stiles. I don’t have to worry about Scott; that’s just not who he is. But if this does happen, if she kills me by this crazy magic or if she kills me another way, I want you to promise that none of you will go looking for revenge.”

“Are you going to have this conversation with Malia and Stiles?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll either go to you or to Scott, first. I’ve already told you; Scott doesn’t see the point of revenge. So they’ll come to you. I know you’ll think about it. I know that you don’t have any problems killing in defense of what you cherish.”

Jackson paled, but then it struck him. Chris, Braeden and Derek cleaned up the bodies at the factory fight. Of course, one of them would notice that one had died by his claws. But it didn’t seem like Derek was judging him for it.

“You’re right. I don’t. But there’s a difference between defending what’s mine and vengeance.” 

“I know there is. I needed you to know that I know you do, and I needed to know that you could help Scott in making sure that Stiles and Malia don’t put themselves in harm’s way.” 

“If you want me to promise that I’ll do everything to keep Malia and Stiles alive, even if it means stopping them from going after the monster who killed you … then you don’t have to worry because I will. I do promise.”

Derek beamed at him then, the smile of a man who has set his house in order. Jackson didn’t tear up. He wouldn’t.


	31. A Promise to the Dead (Part 2: You're Strong Because You Endure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has dinner with his parents and a game against Devenford Prep!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows dialogue directly from the show.

Derek had left about ten minutes before his mother would have started dinner. As Jackson washed up before he went down, he started to think about how his life was different than his cousin’s. There had been times in his life when he had wanted to skip dinner altogether. Back then, the dinners were annoying; David and Helen would try to pry into his life, and he would deflect their interest with one-word answers or sarcasm.

Now, he looked forward to meals when both his parents could be there. David was still recovering. The chance of his attendance at dinner – or even lunch – was fifty-fifty. Sometimes he was at the doctor’s; sometimes he was just too fatigued. And Helen was not a stay-at-home mom; she ran a savings-and-loan corporation and that meant she sometimes had meeting with other executives or fancy dinners with clients. Since Jackson had returned from London, dinner by himself hadn’t been voluntary.

He didn’t feel neglected, though. Some children needed constant reassurances of love and acceptance, but he had never doubted that David and Ellen had loved him. In the past, he had only doubted whether that mattered. There wasn’t any doubt about that any more.

All three of them were gathered together for this meal, and as was the custom when that happened, they had put out a good set of china. It wasn’t the antique, irreplaceable family china, but a good set none-the-less. The silver flatware and crystal goblets were just symbols of their family’s success. 

Helen took a lightly-chilled Viognier out of its carrier and poured a half glass for David. The doctors had said that he could have a little of it once in a while. She poured herself a full glass and, strangely enough, one for Jackson as well.

“Is it a special occasion?”

“No.” Helen smiled at her son. “Well, yes. We’ve all been so busy recently or distracted with things, I wanted to make tonight special, since we were all together as a family.”

Jackson couldn’t help but tease her. “Did you cook?”

Helen rolled her eyes. “It’s not _that_ special an occasion.” He had to have inherited that attitude form somewhere. She did serve the salad herself, carefully giving David the exact amount of dressing he was allowed to have and not a half-ounce more. 

David looked mournful. “I have to get better.”

“Yes.” Helen said. 

“Because once I get better, I will actually be able to eat real food again.”

Jackson beamed at his father. “How have you been doing, Dad? I didn’t take you to your appointment yesterday.” He didn’t add that he couldn’t because he was busy trying to thwart professional assassins. His parents didn’t need to know that.

David went into a rather amusing story of his medical condition, which he delivered in such an exaggeratingly aggrieved tone that it drew chuckles from his audience. Jackson laughed with him, but he realized that his father’s condition probably made David listless and crabby.

Helen tried to change the topic at the first available moment. “So, I’ve heard that you’re dating the Sheriff’s son.”

Jackson nearly coughed on his wine. “Where … where did you hear that?”

“A mother has her sources.” She looked coy. “When did this happen?”

“Did you think we’d be upset about that?” His father leaned forward. “We aren’t. I’m not and I’m sure your mother’s not, but I have to say … well, actually, I’m a little curious. It hasn’t been that long ago since you had a restraining order on him. Not that I’m … well, I am questioning you about it.”

“It’s … complicated.” Jackson wasn’t prepared for this. “I haven’t talked to you about it because … well, I didn’t know how to tell you about it. It just seemed easier not to talk about it.”

Helen looked over her wine glass. “Now that we know, you could talk about it if you wanted.”

Jackson stared down at his plate. There was so much he could share not, but he wasn’t going to tell his parents about werewolves. Not yet. “No. We should talk about it. It’s just not easy.”

“Take your time.” David encouraged him. 

“Last year … last year was very rough for me.” Jackson fumbled for words, while fiddling with his knife. “It should have been a great year. I was captain of the lacrosse team, I had a beautiful girlfriend, and I was doing well in school. But I didn’t feel that everything was great. I felt … incomplete.”

His parents didn’t say anything but when he glanced at them, he could tell they understood.

“Then, at the January tryouts, Scott McCall made first line. He was really good, and I felt threatened. The rivalry started out small, but it kept … it got bigger. Then, when he was made Co-Captain, I sort of lost control of myself.”

Helen reached over and touched his hand in sympathy. 

Jackson didn’t yank his hand away. “I did things that I’m not proud of. That I don’t think you would be proud of. I don’t want to talk about them with you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Let’s just say that while I may not have totally deserved being locked in the back of that police van, if … well, I didn’t totally not deserve it, either.”

“Why didn’t you think you could talk to us?” David asked from his side of the table. 

“By time I realized how out dangerous and out-of-control everything was, I couldn’t.” Matt and then Gerard wouldn’t let him. “It had got to be too big, and then … well, you know what happened.”

“You scared us, Jackson.” Helen said without letting go of his hand. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. But you sent me away, and that was the best thing you could have done. That time in England, I know it cost you a lot of money …”

His father scoffed. “What’s the point of money if you don’t use it?”

“It gave me perspective and time to work through things that I didn’t have here, that I wouldn’t have had here. I … when I came back, things were very different.” He looked at both of them. “The people I hated – and I treated them badly because of it – I didn’t hate anymore. The people who hated me and treated me poorly didn’t treat me poorly anymore. In fact, I have a … I have a lot in common with them, and those things we have in common aren’t going to go away. I’ve become more than friends with Scott and Stiles, and I’ve made more friends besides them.”

His parents were pleased with this. They had always been concerned that his only close friend seemed to be Danny. 

“Is Derek Hale a new friend of yours?” Helen asked. 

“Yes. We’re friends. But it’s more than that. He’s also a part of my biological family. I found that out overseas. He didn’t know either.” 

This was shocking news to his parents. They schooled their faces into approving masks, but Jackson could smell the anxiety on them. He felt ashamed; this was an anxiety that he had created by his behavior when they told him he was adopted. He knew better now.”

“Yeah, I’m related to the Hales, and that’s a good thing. Derek thought he had lost his entire family to that fire, but he didn’t. He found me and his sister Cora and his Uncle Peter and even a cousin he didn’t know about. And that got me thinking about the difference between me and Derek. I never lost my family.” Jackson felt uncomfortable saying this. The words were thick and heavy in his throat. “You’re my family, and I … I didn’t understand that. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have …” David began. 

“I do. _I do._ You’re my Mom and Dad. You’ve been here all this time, and you never turned your back on me and you did everything you could for me and I was just a bastard.” Jackson hadn’t planned to go this far, but the words came tumbling out. He felt out of control again, but in kind of a good way. “I never said I love you, and I do. I do love you.”

His mother came around the table and gave him a hug, and his father was acting very stoically. They weren’t a very physically affectionate family, so it wasn’t as if his father was rejecting him. Instead, David nodded and pretended he had something in his eye.

His mother released him from the hug. “Okay! Who wants cake?”

**********

“You ready for tonight?” Jackson queried Liam as he was getting dressed. “It’s our first real game, so you need to put up or shut up.”

“Uh?” Liam startled from where he had staring at his shoulder pads.

“Earth to Liam.” Jackson sat down next to him. “You ready for tonight?”

“Yeah.” Liam tried to put those very shoulder pads, managing only to put them on backwards. With a barely audible snarl, he yanked the pads off and threw them on the ground. “Sure.”

“Okay, that was the least convincing thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. What’s the matter with you?”

“Why do you care?” 

Jackson frowned at Liam’s tone. He didn’t need to put up with this type of passive aggression. If he were Scott, he would say something ridiculous sappy and heartfelt to get the younger werewolf to open up. This was not the first time that Jackson was glad he wasn’t the alpha. Instead of being sensitive and supportive, he reached over gave Liam a wedgie. 

“Hey!” Liam was not used to getting those. He did a little dance rearranging his shorts. “Why’d you do that?” 

“I’m team captain. That means one of my jobs is making sure my teammates are focused on the field and not somewhere else. Are you focused on the game tonight? Because you made first line as a freshman, which means your ass _better_ be focused on that field when the referee puts the ball down. So, I’m going to ask again — what’s the matter with you?”

Liam opened his mouth, but Jackson immediately put a finger in his face. “And if what comes out of your mouth is ‘I’m fine,’ I’ll get Coach to bench you so fast your head will spin and then I’ll subject you to truly intolerable levels of hazing for an entire week of practice. Yeah, hazing is illegal, but so is drinking, and you were gulping down rum and root beer at the bonfire — by the way, ewwwww — like it was the last day before the comet hit.”

Liam turned sullen. “I didn’t even feel it. It was the music that made me act drunk, played by people trying to burn me alive.”

“Oh, I see. You’re upset about that.”

“Aren’t you upset?” 

“Yes. I was. I passed out in front of every single important alumni I could name. And if you don’t remember, I was soaked in gasoline as well, and I’ll tell you something, you can’t get the smell of gasoline out of a linen shirt. It’s just a rag now.”

Liam’s eyes grew large in disbelief. “They were going to burn us.”

“Yes. Who are you going to blame for that?”

Liam stuttered for the moment. “Well … them! They tried to burn us.”

“Is that the only person you’re blaming?”

The freshman beta stared at Jackson for a moment and then his eyes immediately dropped to his shoes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s a lot of people you could be blaming right now. You could be blaming Meredith Walker, or Scott, or you. I heard you fought a berserker at the hospital.”

There’s a telltale shudder that went through Liam. His hands clenched. His pulse raced. It was a more than just a brief memory of a bad fight; it was a surge of terror like the berserker was right there in the room. Jackson knew this feeling. All his friends knew this feeling, but Jackson also knew that this particular feeling, this fearful echo, was new to Liam. 

“You see them, don’t you?”

The freshman nearly leaped off the bench, but Jackson reached out, grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to sit back down. 

“You do. You probably will, at least for a while. It took me a good three months before I stopped seeing them.” 

“You saw … berserkers?”

“No, you freaking idiot. I saw scales.” Jackson tilted his head to the side. “You’ve been told the story, right? All of us have been through similar things. It takes time for us to process it. You just need time. And you need to let yourself blame people.”

“Why would I blame Scott?” Liam’s voice was small. The way he said it meant that he did blame Scott, at least in part.

“He Bit you.”

“He was trying to save my life!”

“But he still Bit you. No matter what his reasons for doing it, he still changed you into what you are now. Blame’s not necessarily a rational thing. I blamed him for taking away my glory when he made co-captain as a sophomore. It didn’t matter that his playing well didn’t stop me from playing well, I blamed him all the same.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Scott didn’t ask to be Bitten, just like you didn’t ask to be Bitten. Yet, even after I knew the whole story, I still blamed him from taking something away from me that I never lost. Everyone in our pack has blamed each other for something they’ve done, whether it’s right or wrong.”

“Stiles …”

“You think Stiles doesn’t blame his father or Scott for the nogitsune? If his father hadn’t been kidnapped, Stiles would’ve never been possessed. If Scott didn’t have the makings of a True Alpha, the Alpha Pack would never have come, and his father wouldn’t have been kidnapped and so on …”

“That’s wrong.”

“It’s not about what’s wrong or right, it’s about what you feel. You can’t help what you feel; what you can help is how you choose to act on those feelings.”

“So, you’re saying it’s okay to blame Scott for getting me involved in this …”

“It’s not okay; it simply is. You can’t help it. Just like you can’t help it when you blame yourself for being a victim or you blame yourself for not being strong enough to fight off a berserker. I heard the story from Kira.”

“What do I do?”

“Well, I went to London, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible for you.” Jackson considered it. “You get up. Every morning. You go to school. You study with your little friend — Mason, wasn’t it? You come to practice every day. You focus on the game we’re about to play. That’s what you do. And eventually, it’ll go away.”

“It will?”

Jackson grimaced. “Or you might need therapy, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we’ve got to beat Devenford Preparatory High School’s asses so hard they’ll have to sit on their dorky sweater vests. My best friend is their goalie, and I can’t even imagine how much he’ll gloat if we lose to them.”

Liam smiles. “I owe Brett an ass-whippin’.” 

“That you do. So, yeah, you’re not going to be one-hundred percent for a while. Happens to the best of us. Tonight, can you give me … say, eighty percent?” 

Liam stood up and pulled on his jersey with authority. It was the best answer that Jackson was going to get. 

“You know,” Jackson began. “You can talk to your pack about these things. We do have the benefit of experience.” His eyes lifted to the roof. “Way too much goddamn experience.”

Liam picked up his stick. “Scott said I didn’t have to be.”

“He said what?” 

“He said I didn’t have to be pack, if I didn’t want to be.”

“Of course, he’d say that.” Jackson shrugged. “Scott would never try to make you be pack. But you do know you can still come to us if you need some advice. Though, I’ll give you some advice right now. Take it from someone who knows — pack is better.” Somewhere else in Beacon Hills, Derek broke out into a celebratory jig. As he should, Jackson felt. 

Stiles came in just as Jackson and Liam finished their conversation. He hurried to start getting dressed.

“Where’s Scott?” Liam demanded of him.

“Everything’s fine. I got a text from him this morning, and he said he might be a little bit late.” Stiles stripped off his shirt. 

“How late is late? Is he always late? We’re playing Devenford Prep again, and this time it’s an actual game. He shouldn’t be late!”

Jackson taps Liam on the side with his cross, trying to calm him. His words to Liam earlier must have struck true, because he could feel the need of a beta for his alpha coming off of Liam.

“Who shouldn’t be late?” Coach appeared, as Coach always did, when he was least needed. All three of them ware awkwardly silent.

“Scott and Kira,” Liam admitted.

“Might be slightly late!” 

“It was unavoidable,” Jackson added helpfully.

“Slightly late is still late! What are they doing?” Coach stammered in frustration.

Jackson looked to Liam who looked to Stiles who look to Jackson who looked back to Liam and then all of them looked at Coach.

“They’re doing something that is going to make them slightly late.” Stiles replied, dead-pan. Jackson put his hand over his face.

“What could Scott and Kira be doing right now that’s more important than playing in the first game?” 

Stiles, Jackson, and Liam answered simultaneously. “Oh, Coach.”

Jackson stepped forward and put his arm around Coach’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. McCall and I went over everything about Devenford Prep all week. We know their plays inside and out. Liam here.” He gestured with his crosse. “He used to play with them.”

“I know that!” Coach gave him an outraged eye bulge.

“We’ve got this. Now let’s get out on the field!”

On the pitch, Jackson brought the team together for the traditional chant. He saw the faces around him, most of his fellow players having no idea what had been going on in Beacon Hills. He didn’t need them to right now. He needed them to win this game against Devenford Prep. “We are Cyclones!” That was the cry, and everyone shouted it in unison. He looked over where Stiles was chanting, and he saw his boyfriend nudge the anxious Liam until the freshman joined in.

As they finished the chant, Jackson looked out onto the crowd. It’s the first game of the season. He saw his own mother out in the stands and sitting next to her was his father. For a moment, Jackson felt bad, because his father was really pushing his recovery by being here. But in the next instant, his heart felt uncomfortably large in his chest. His father was willing to risk his health to be there. He raised his lacrosse as a salute to his parents.

A few feet away from him sat the Sheriff and Malia. They had come as well to root for the team. He had to remind himself, that these were his boyfriend’s father and his sister. They were shouting for him just as much as they were shouting for Stiles. Even Liam’s best friend Mason screamed encouragement from a little bit farther down the row.

Jackson had played plenty of games the last three seasons. Yet, this one felt like it was somehow more important. It felt special. He clapped his hands and gave one more chant before breaking the huddle and heading over to the bench

Liam went through his bag obsessively. “They’re still not here.” Stiles sat down on one side of him and Jackson sat down on the other side.

“Okay, what’s really going on? Are you nervous about the full moon? It’s not for another twenty-four hours.” 

Stiles couldn’t understand it, but Jackson had learned enough. Liam was scared; he was scared about everything: berserkers, Kate, being a werewolf, all of it. And as all betas did who weren’t terrorized or brutalized by their alphas, he wanted Scott’s comforting presence. The alpha made the pack stronger; the pack made the alpha stronger. 

“Liam, you’re going to be fine, okay? Just try not to rage out on anyone.”

“You’re not worried?”

“I’m not worried!” Jackson put in. “Why would I be worried? I’ve been winning games since he was Wheezy McSlow.” 

Stiles scowled at him. “You never called him that.”

“I absolutely called him that. Never to his face. That would have been cruel.”

His boyfriend gave Jackson a disbelieving look. However, their banter wasn’t settling Liam any. Jackson doubted anything could.

“I’m mildly concerned. Mildly.” Stiles took out his phone and texted with as much urgency as Matt exuded creepiness. 

“We’re going to lose without him!” Liam complained.

Jackson smacked Liam on the backside of the head. “We certainly will with that attitude. The truth is, we might even be better without him. Do you know why?”

Liam shook his head in bafflement. 

“Because Scott — and you’re going to have to work with me here — is not very quick on the uptake.” Jackson puffed his chest out. “With him, the train will eventually chug its way to the station, but he’s never in the top ten mental sprinters.” 

Liam and Stiles were both staring at him; Liam narrowed his eyes. Jackson only kinda-sorta meant it. Scott’s weakness on the field — and probably as an alpha — was coming up with immediate solutions to immediate problems. Switching plays quickly could leave him out of position. He was much better at long-term strategies. On the pitch, Jackson had plans in place to compensate for that. 

And probably in the pack as well.

Stiles snorted at him. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Because you know, I’ve been practicing. I’m getting good, really good.”

Stiles has not gotten good. It’s not that Stiles was untalented — well, actually, he was that untalented. His physical coordination wasn’t that strong, and his mental sharpness became an actual handicap. Stiles over-thought everything on the field, which led to him hesitating, missing the flow of the game, and overall clumsiness.

It didn’t matter though. Jackson could more than compensate for him as well. Liam was not operating at peak performance. He still had his athleticism, his coordination, his head for the game, but the littlest werewolf would just freeze up on the field. Jackson could smell the fear on him, but he couldn’t do much about it. He was working double time to keep the Cyclones in the game. Jackson would never admit it, but it would have been much easier if Scott had been there.

Jackson decided to be the player most often facing Brett on the field. They played well against each other, but that class also had the side effect of them having to workd harder to hide their wolf abilities. Brett would try to one-up him, and then Jackson would try to one up him. It was an even match. 

Then Brett had to upset the balance by plowing right into Liam in the middle of the field. Jackson overheard their conversation and the referee’s interrogation. It took him a few more minutes before Jackson could corner the Devenford captain on the field. 

“What was that about?”

Brett sneered at him out of reflex. “What?”

“Helping Liam probably just doomed your chances of winning this thing.” 

The taller werewolf just shrugged. “Ehn. It’s a game.” 

Jackson frowned. “Then if you don’t care, I’m just going to go win this.” He sped off. He didn’t understand that type of attitude. Winning was winning, in the class room, on the pitch, or in the battle for survival. If Brett wanted to pretend that he didn’t care about any of this, Jackson wasn’t going to avoid taking advantage of that. 

They won by a single score. It was going to be a great start to the season. With both him and Scott on the field in later games — if Scott could be bothered to show up, they were going to go all the way to State once again.

It wasn’t until the game was totally over that he got word that Scott and Kira had been kidnapped.


	32. Smoke & Mirrors (Part 1: It's Going to Be Messy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson joins the rescue mission to Mexico.

“Are you trying to tell me that Scott and Kira have been kidnapped for nearly twenty-four hours and nobody noticed?” Jackson expelled the air from his lungs in a frustrated puff. 

“Looks like it.” Malia pointed at the warehouse. “We’re supposed to rendezvous in there.”

“Not a single person noticed? Not Melissa? Neither of the Yukimuras?”

Malia simply shrugged. “Maybe Kate texted them like he texted Stiles.”

“So, Melissa McCall gets a text from her son, saying that he’s going to be a little late to what — to school? To the game? To home? And she — knowing the type of life her son leads — accepts that. Let’s be kind here. Let’s say she’s working a double shift and didn’t know that her son has been gone for nearly twenty-four hours, did she not check on him when she got off work?”

The werecoyote had a weird look on her face. “Am I supposed to know that?”

“And even if Melissa is so completely divorced from her son’s life that she can’t recognize a false text sent by a deranged nagual, why would the Yukimuras accept that their daughter decided to not come home, skip school, and then skip her first-ever lacrosse game?” Jackson was outraged. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m mad …” Jackson took a deep breath and opened the door of the warehouse for Malia. “I’m mad at the adults who seem to be so used to this …” He ground his teeth. “The Dead Pool ended three days ago. Three days! It’s wrong; it’s terribly wrong.”

Malia stepped inside. “If it makes you feel better, I had to sneak out of the house to come here. I told my dad I’m having a sleep over with Lydia.”

“Henry bought that?”

“Lydia is apparently good people.” Malia shrugged. “She’s not a boy trying to, as he put it, ‘deflower his daughter.’”

Jackson smiled. 

“It’s not funny, it’s stupid.”

“Would you rather have a father who pretends you don’t exist than a father who chases scumbag boys away from you?”

“I don’t know any boys like that.”

Jackson laughed, bitterly. “I am a boy, and we are all scumbags. But still. I can’t believe it.”

Stiles appeared behind them with Liam in tow. Stiles look as disgruntled as Jackson was. “What can’t you believe, Jacks?”

“He’s mad at Scott’s and Kira’s parents.” Malia confided.

The two newly arrived pack members were confused. Stiles squinted at him. “What did they do?”

“It’s what they didn’t do. Anything. It’s where they’re not. Right here. Either they’re so utterly clueless that they don’t realize their kids have been missing for an entire day, or they’re callous pieces of shit.”

Stiles puts his hands on his waist. “Uhm.”

“Uhm, what, Stiles?”

“I may have told Melissa, Noshiko, and Ken …” Stiles chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I may have told them that Kira and Scott went straight from their date to find a location for Liam to spend the full moon, as it’s only his second one.”

“What?” Jackson nearly shouted, but he was glad he did not actually shout.

“What?” Liam did shout. 

“I didn’t want them to worry.” Stiles explained. 

Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Liam? Malia? Could you wait inside for us please? And don’t listen!” 

After a fair amount of grumbling, his sister and the beta went inside. Jackson took Stiles down the row. “Are you serious?”

“What? Why? You think I did something wrong.”

“Yes.” Jackson looked around. “What if … Stiles, you have to face the possibility that they’re already dead. It’s been twenty-four hours.”

A look of momentary horror passed over Stiles’ face. “Lydia would have told us …”

“Lydia isn’t without her limits. And anyway, all she knew was that they weren’t dead last night. That’s eight hours ago, and we’ve got a fifteen-hour drive to La Iglesia. That’s a lot of time before we can really know anything or do anything about it.”

Stiles tried to brush it off. “Lydia …”

“What’s Lydia’s range, Stiles? I was there when she got here read on Derek when he too was at the Church. It wasn’t very helpful.”

Jackson watched as Stiles processed this information. “I can’t believe they’re dead. I won’t believe it.”

“You’re the one who criticizes Scott for his optimism. What’s going to happen if they’re dead, and the Yukimuras realized that you lied to them? How’s it going to make Melissa feel, if you kept her from doing something to protect her only son?”

“We’ll rescue them.” Stiles kept the panic out of his voice. “We have to.”

Jackson set his jaw. “Well, you better hope so, because if we don’t manage to rescue them, you’ve done something terrible.” To soften the blow of his words and the possibility — which Stiles hadn’t obviously given that much thought to — that they would be too late, he hugged him. “What did your Dad say?”

Stiles stiffened under the hug. “Well …”

“Well, what?”

“Apparently, I’m not supposed to go to Mexico. Dad’s going to contact the Border Patrol and the FBI and the Mexican state police. He wants me to let them look into it first. I’m going to be in so much trouble when he finds out that I’m going.”

Jackson placed a kiss on the cheek. “There’s my Stiles.” Stiles literally blushed. Jackson made a mental note of it to use in the future when Stiles was angry with him. 

“He’s a hypocrite.” Stiles complained.

“He is?”

“You know how he covered up all the things the nogitsune did with the Argent’s help. Yet, suddenly now he wants me to sit in my room and be patient while he talks to different law enforcement offices.” 

“You know why, right?” Jackson pulled on Stiles arm to lead him back inside. 

Stiles threw up his hands. “Sunspot activity?”

“Your father will only really break the law if you’re involved.” 

Stiles shook his head in denial. 

“He loves you, knucklehead.” Jackson pointed out. “I can understand that.”

“My father loves Scott just as much. He certainly trusts Scott more than he trust me.” Stiles walked to the warehouse and went in.

Jackson followed, but he had to chuckle. Stiles hadn’t learned yet that trust and love were two different things. Sure, Noah Stilinski may trust Scott more, but Scott was easy to trust. But no amount of trust could hold a candle to the worlds that Noah would burn to protect his only son.

On that note, Jackson went inside only to be confronted by his own biological father. At least Derek and Braeden were there. They had brought Derek’s SUV and … a prisoner transport van. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jackson said out loud.

Braeden shrugged. “They need it for the puppy.” 

“I am not a puppy!”

“Liam!” Stiles turned to his boyfriend in surprise. “What’s the matter, Jacks? And how did you get a prisoner transport van anyway?” 

“I’m a U.S. Marshall.” 

Jackson grimaced at Stiles who was still befuddled. Then, he slowly remember the last time they had asked Jackson to ride in a prisoner transport van. An impish smile stole across Stiles’ face. “It’s old home week.”

“Har-de-har-har.” Jackson admitted that it was pretty funny.

Peter had decided by this point that people weren’t paying enough attention to him, so he and Stiles got into an exchange of sass. His boyfriend’s hatred for his biological father didn’t bother Jackson at all. Peter had definitely earned it. 

Jackson did become suspicious, however, when Peter was very, very, _very_ eager to get this show on the road. Jackson sniffed the air. While there was a great deal of worry from most of the people in the room, there was the aroma of eagerness and stress coming from the oldest werewolf. Peter was up to something. 

“We aren’t leaving without Lydia.” 

Peter was immediately opposed to wasting any more time waiting for her, and they finally compromised on sending Mason, Liam’s best friend, to check on her at the school. Jackson didn’t say anything, but he was even more convinced that something weird was going on. Everyone was so worried about Scott and Kira that they didn’t notice Peter’s strange behavior. 

Peter didn’t care about Scott, he had never mentioned Kira before, and suddenly he was pushing for them to leave. Jackson really did want to wait for Lydia, but Peter wasn’t completely wrong that the longer they waited the more dangerous he was. Yet, as the small caravan pulled out, he decided that he would keep his focus on Peter during this trip.

**********

He gets why they didn’t see it.

Liam was a bundle of emotions. He knew that waiting for them in Mexico were more berserkers, and while he swore up and down that he was ready, he could not possibly be ready. He was afraid. He also knew that the coming full moon — only his second — meant that he would have to endure his transformation once again. He was nervous. Finally, he knew that Scott and Kira were in terrible danger from a woman he’d never seen but only heard horror stories about. Liam may have liked Kira, but his connection to Scott was already extraordinarily deep. He was worried. So he could be forgiven for not seeing it.

Braeden was a professional. She had been involved with the supernatural ever since she had lost her job as a U.S. Marshall. She had discovered the Desert Wolf’s nature, and she had learned everything she needed to know to take her down. But, for all her protestations that she would sell any of them out for sufficient cash, she was both moral and insightful. She knew that Peter was bad news, but if he had been really dangerous, she believed that Derek and Scott wouldn’t tolerate his presence. She would never really get the pull of family or the hope of second chances. So she could be forgiven for not seeing it.

Derek was a nephew. He had moved beyond the guilt that had twisted him so much when he first came back to Beacon Hills. He wasn’t a slave to it anymore. He didn’t have anything to make up for, and he wasn’t going to carry that anger around with him. Part of that had to influence how he treated his uncle. He would hold Peter to a standard of behavior, and he wouldn’t let the man manipulate him. Which was why Peter very carefully kept Derek as far from his plans as he could. So he could be forgiven for not seeing it.

Stiles was a friend. He was always the one who figured it out first, because he could see what was missing. He could see the clues; pick up the possible motivations; figure out the best opportunities. But it was Scott that was missing. Just like Liam, he may have liked Kira, but Scott was more than just a best friend to Stiles. He was his other self. With that missing hole, with the idea of him in the clutches of a psychopath like Kate, Stiles was fixated on that. So he can be forgiven for not seeing it just as much.

Jackson didn’t know if Malia saw it or not, and if she didn’t, he was sure she wasn’t be able to see it because of all the messy interaction between Peter being her father. 

But he saw it. Peter was up to something.

Maybe because when Stiles let it slip in the back of the police van that Peter had tracked down the name of Malia’s mother, the identity of whom Peter had pretended to no idea. It was bullshit. Chris and Jackson had run into and tangled with the Desert Wolf in San Francisco. The sheer coincidence that they knew more about her than Peter did, even though his biological father had supposedly spent money and time looking for her, didn’t sit well with Jackson. 

Maybe because when they first announced that they were going to have to fight Kate and her pets to rescue Scott and Kira, Peter was suddenly the captain of the cheerleader squad, pom-poms and all. It’s if he didn’t run from the berserker fight at the school, which he so totally did. Jackson was sure that if there was a chance to kill Kate Argent, Peter would be there, but Peter would absolutely think of a way to get her away from her berserker pets first.

Maybe because he was coming at all. Peter’s disdain and dislike of Scott were well known. People were sorted, as far as Jackson could tell, into three categories for Peter: useful, useless, and enemies. As much as he had not dared to stand up to Scott before, he was still Scott’s enemy. Jackson knew a thing or three about grudges, and he didn’t buy Peter’s redemption act at all. Peter was like a bad magician; when trying to trick you, he couldn’t help but gloat that it’s a trick and give you little hints on how he’s doing it. For him suddenly to be so concerned about the True Alpha’s health was like a card trick where you could see the extra ace up the magician’s sleeve.

Yes. Peter was up to something.

Of course, there was nothing that Jackson could do about it. He was riding in the back of a police transport vehicle with Derek, Liam, and Stiles. Liam seemed okay so far. Derek was taking a nap. Jackson had asked if Braeden wanted to switch out driving duty, and she had demurred.

“One of the things you learn in my line of work is how much newly-bitten werewolves and full moons don’t mix. I’ll be fine with a metal cage between me and Scrappy-doo in there.”

That left Jackson babysitting Liam with Derek and Stiles. They chained him up with handcuffs to the back seat, and Jackson tried very hard not to roll his eyes. Liam, according to Scott, was nearly as strong as he was when in the embrace of the moon, which meant he would tear through those restraints as easy as a toddler shredding wrapping paper. He would have to be enough to hold Liam down. Stiles and Derek would be sitting ducks if he couldn’t.

Jackson told himself that shouldn’t be so down on his pack. He should trust in his cousin and his boyfriend. Then Derek brought out the False Talisman of Shift Control and Jackson scooted a little closer to Liam. 

And Jackson turned out to be right. Liam did freak out, strong enough to rip out of the chains binding him, strong enough to toss the van around like it’s a go-cart driven by a sugar-rushed toddler. Eventually, Jackson put Liam in a headlock until Derek and Stiles could talk him down. Liam was almost back to normal by the time they reached the destroyed village.

Derek interrogated the beta. “Think you can bring that same level of control and strength inside La Iglesia?”

In answer, the suddenly cocky Liam flicked out his claws. Jackson wanted to smack him in the back of the head, because his jacket still had rents where the little punk had torn at it in his frenzy. But this was not the time to be antagonistic to the littlest werewolf. Or call him that. Openly.

Derek went to the back door of the van and Jackson was a bit too slow. The smell of death — the scent of the berserkers — would be all around the town so it wasn’t that which had alerted him to the problem. It was the powerful heartbeat, echoing from outside the door. Jackson was the only one who could have noticed it, as Liam was way too inexperienced. But he didn’t, not until it was too late.

The berserker yanked Derek out of the back of the vehicle and started whaling on him. No one had a chance to do anything, stunned by the swiftness of the attack. By the time that Braeden started unloading the shotgun into it, blood had been spilled. Derek had been stabbed once, maybe twice, gasping in pain and leaning up against a broken down wall. 

They all stand there, staring at Derek. Jackson started toward the downed werewolf in confusion. How badly had Derek been stabbed? Jackson couldn’t tell because there was too much blood. Braeden was seeing to him, and a shaky-voiced Derek ordered them to go and save Scott and Kira. Bathed in the moonlight outside La Iglesia, Jackson had no illusions that once they went in, they’d most likely come out to find Derek Hale dead.

Malia and Liam were the first to follow his orders probably because they didn’t realize what Jackson already had. Stiles loitered. There was a look on his face that Jackson wished he could take the time to wipe off. Stiles was torn by the need to stop what was happening — the death of those he cared about — as he always had been, yet he could only be in one place at one time.

Peter took one long look back and then disappeared inside. 

Jackson wasn’t a medical doctor. He didn’t know first-aid techniques, so he knew where he had to be. Jackson entered the church.

The group filed their way through the grotesque obliterated architecture of the church and into the darkness that was only partially due to it being after nightfall. The full moon shone down through the rafted ceiling, and the shadows coiled in pools at their feet. They were stalking evil.

Peter took the lead, followed up by Stiles and then Jackson, with Malia and Liam bringing up the rear. Everyone had their eyes open but they were relying on Peter to navigate the darkened. That’s why everyone was shocked and Stiles was embarrassed when his phone rang.

Jackson heard the sheriff’s voice on the other side of the phone, and he would need to comfort Stiles later. The sheriff was furious, and Jackson could only imagine what type of trouble Stiles would have to face when he came home.

But he couldn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Jackson was focused on Peter, focused so hard that his eyes were glowing in the dark of the church. His misgivings, his suspicions had been growing all the way down the road from Beacon Hills. The final straw had been Peter’s abandonment of a dying Derek outside. The idea that Peter would put Scott’s and Kira’s lives above Derek’s was ridiculous. He would figure out the older werewolf’s angle, and then he’d put a stop to it.

Stiles hung up the phone, looking grim.

“What do we do now?” Liam asked, nervously.

Malia’s warning came perfectly timed, because a berserker had stealthily crept up behind them while Stiles was on the phone. While their stink was all over the place, the discussion and the echoing nature of the place had concealed him from the werecreature’s sharp senses. It was the best place for the berserker to attack and the worst place for the pack to defend; there was one of it and five of them, but they were all in a narrow corridor. 

Peter ushered them out into an open area, giving them more light and more space to maneuver. More space to flank. More space to switch out. It was tactically sound. Jackson made sure that Stiles was out and away from the combat.

“I can help!” Stiles reacted angrily to Jackson’s guiding arms.

“Yes, you can, but not in hand-to-hand. Find us a goddamn advantage, Stiles!” Jackson shouted at him. He didn’t have time to care about Stiles’ feelings. The berserker was ferocious and unrelenting in his attacks. Turning from Stiles, Jackson plunged back into the fray, but his claws scraped across the bone armor that covered the creature’s chest.

In the middle of the fight, something odd danced like quicksilver over Jackson’s consciousness. This berserker was really short.

He didn’t have much time to focus on it. The pack took Peter’s lead; he would dodge in and strike it, and then dodge away before the berserker could deal damage back. Each of them could take a turn. It was wolf-pack tactics.

Malia needed to divest herself of Kira’s sword to fight effectively. She forced it into Stiles’ hands. “Find Scott and Kira!”

It was a good idea. He should have thought of it. Even if they take this one down, Kate’s still unaccounted for and there’s at least two other berserkers unaccounted for. He doesn’t have much time for reflection because it’s his turn to keep the berserker off-balance.

The tactic was a solid one. Between the four of them they’re beginning to wear the monster down. It was still throwing terrible blows at them, but they’re coming slower and its recovery time slowed down. 

Peter dodged for his next turn as Liam scrambled out of its path. Jackson shouted at Malia. “On three, we pin him!” The berserker didn’t seem to understand them or even recognize that they were speaking, so it was easy to plan out what was going on. “One!” He was on the left side, and Malia was on the right. “Two!” The berserker cracked Peter in the jaw. “Three!”

The berserker was stronger than them, but they had position and leverage, holding it up against the pillar. Liam came in and tore at the abdomen of the creature, hitting once, twice, three times.

Peter had pulled one of the bone-dagger-things from the altar that occupied the center of the room and tossed it to Liam. “The head! Go for the head! Kill it!”

Jackson wanted to put a stop to that, but if it had to be done, it had to be done. He didn’t want Liam to have to kill, but this thing could potentially kill them all if it got loose. It was never going to stop, so they had to stop it.

Liam hesitated. Peter was shouting at him to finish it. Jackson opened his mouth to encourage Liam, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It didn’t sit well with him. But eventually, the beta raised the dagger. 

Only to have it cut from his hands by Kira wielding her katana with a deft movement.

Stiles came up running behind them. “Don’t! It’s Scott! The berserker’s Scott!”

Jackson shook his head, but it instantly snapped into place. It — Scott — he was shorter by far than the others, and he had a more compact form. And when he breathed in, he could detect Scott’s scent against the super-moldy bone armor he was wearing, and see his eyes beneath the skull. He was familiar with Scott’s body, and he had been fooled.

They had all been fooled. They had been looking for an enemy to fight, an enemy keeping them from their pack mates, for a shadowy form to hang their fears on. Defeating the undefeatable had seemed within reach. They had every reason to fight to the death.

Jackson watched the Scott-berserker grab Liam by the throat and pick him up. Stunned with how close he had come to help killing someone he cared about, he looked around and saw the one thing that made everything else make sense.

There was one person who had not been fooled. There was one person who was completely unsurprised by this turn of events: his biological father. Jackson growled. 

Before he could act, Jackson forced himself to turn back to the scene before him. Liam was pleading with Scott to remember who he was — to remember what Liam meant to him by reminding him what he meant to Liam. “You’re a werewolf … like me.”

It was enough. Scott set Liam down and took a step back. And then another. The struggle to drive out the animal spirit wasn’t easily won, but Scott slowly divested himself of the armor. As much as it protected him, it wasn’t something he would wear. It protected his body, but it didn’t hold his soul. Finally, Scott took the skull — the symbol of death — and he shattered it with his own strength and his own roar, driving out the spirit. Scott stood as the enemy of death, as he always had been.

“You.” Scott turned to look at Peter. Jackson gritted his teeth — good. Scott laid out his case and Jackson could see the remaining pieces fall into place. Peter knew that if Liam killed Scott, he would take his power. If someone else killed Scott, the power would pass to Liam anyway. Peter had been standing right behind Liam when the blow would have landed. Peter would have stepped forward and slaughtered a fifteen-year-old boy.

“For my family’s power. To be rightfully inherited by me. Not some idiot teenage boy, so incorruptible, he won’t shed the blood of his enemies, even when justified. You don’t deserve your power. Not power like this.”

“You unbelievable asshole.” Jackson couldn’t believe that this man was his father. The truth tore at Jackson; this man had created him. But Peter had planned not only Kira’s murder, Scott’s murder, and Liam’s murder, but he had risked Jackson’s and Malia’s life to do it — his own children, whether he knew it or not. And what was he going to do with them if he had won? Let them go? He would have had to kill Stiles at least, if he wanted to get away with it. Argent was probably already dead, which was why no one could find him.

This was his father. This cruelty in human skin. This breathing lie. Jackson took a step towards Peter and he meant to roar. But it only came out as a hiss. 

“Jackson.” Scott’s soft voice cut through the rage, cut through the urge to shed humanity and reward such callous mendacity with punishment by abomination. The kanima only killed murderers. “Jackson. He’s not worth it.” The alpha grabbed him by the wrist and the lizard vanished as if it had never been. 

Scott took a step forward. “No one interfere. He’s mine.” Peter rattled on about his Bite, and Scott threatened him right back. Jackson, back to himself, only took a moment to find out why Scott had made this decision.

Scott had to do this by himself. He had to sever the connection between what he had become and this would-be alpha. Sever the spectral bond that remained between them. Sever the fear that Scott might one day become him. Sever any claim that Peter might have on his soul and his responsibilities. They clashed, roaring. 

Jackson turned away while the others watched with anxiety. He already knew the outcome. For all his cleverness, for all his ruthless, Peter was hollow, because he only really cared about himself. He would fall before the True Alpha, and Jackson had other things to worry about.

He had some severing of his own to do.


	33. Smoke & Mirrors (Part 2: You're Gonna Look Out for Each Other)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson resolves the final issue and prepares for the future.

“So, you’re just going to leave?” Stiles demanded of the former alpha.

Jackson had dragged Stiles up with him to where Derek was getting dressed by the SUV. He had overheard — eavesdropped, really — brief conversations between Derek and Scott and between Derek and Argent. With the knowledge that Derek intended not to come back to Beacon Hills, Stiles had been reluctant to go with him and say good-bye. Stiles loathed good-byes with every fiber of his being, but Jackson told him that if Derek left without Stiles saying anything Stiles would regret it.

“Yes, I am.” Derek smiled at him, brilliantly. Stiles had a look on his face like he couldn’t process the smile. Jackson slung an arm around his boyfriend. 

“For good?”

“I don’t know.” Derek replied, more seriously. “As much as there are good memories in Beacon Hills for me now, there are far more bad memories. With the knowledge that Kate escaped and the knowledge of what Peter did in our family name …”

Jackson gritted his teeth. “You know that legacy bullshit was a lie. I know it was a lie. Scott knows it was a lie.”

Derek looked unconvinced. “One of the reasons I’ve stayed for this long is because I wanted to keep an eye on Peter. I didn’t do a very good job.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You had a few other things to worry about.” 

Derek reached out and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m not blaming myself, really. I’m just ready for a change. Braeden hung around to help me and the pack with all this trouble, so it’s only fair I hang around with her for a while. It’s a win-win situation; I get away from things and I have a place to go.”

“And it helps, I get it, that she’s easy on the eyes.” Stiles ribbed him.

“Better than you, Stiles.” Derek raised one eyebrow at Jackson. “You’re being quiet.”

“I guess … I guess I’m going to miss having a larger family.”

Derek ruffled his hair. It was so ludicrous that Stiles burst out laughing. “You’ll always be my cousin. I’m not going dark. And even if I never come back to Beacon Hills, both of us are rich enough that it won’t stop up from to spending time with each other. I hope that you and your sister eventually come down to Brazil and meet your other cousin. Cora would be glad to see you.” He smirked. “Don’t bring your boyfriend.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, right now, we’re a package deal.” Jackson squeezed Stiles’ shoulders. 

Stiles looked between them. “This is getting weirdly chummy. Derek, I still wanna know what happened.”

“I evolved.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t answer any part of my questions.”

Derek looked down at his hands as if experiencing them for the first time. “What Kate did to me, when she aged me backwards, disrupted the way the spark of power all werewolves have within them manifested for me. But that’s not the only thing that caused it. I’d changed long before then — mentally and spiritually. Working with your pack, working with you and Scott, I’d managed to heal much of the damage that kept me from growing. I had yellow eyes again not only because I’d been given a second chance, but also because I’d given myself a second chance.” 

Jackson was not going to get emotional.

“And your transformation into Rin-Tin-Tin?” Stiles was also fighting not to get emotional, employing his usual sarcasm. 

“I don’t really know.”

“Yes, you do.” Jackson had figured this out. “You faced your trauma, and you rose above it. You came down here to save others, even knowing you might die. You became a worthy inheritor of your mother’s true legacy. You earned it.”

Derek look Jackson straight in the eye. “If I did, so did you.”

“What?” 

“Jackson, when Peter and I mauled you in that warehouse last year, we weren’t expecting you to get back up. But you had come back to yourself with Lydia’s help, and you had accepted that you might have to die to stop the kanima. You got back up because you earned it.”

“Yeah.” Stiles said insistently. 

Braeden popped around the corner. “I don’t want to rush you, but we need to get on the road.”

“You two go be with your pack.” Derek clapped both of them on the shoulder and then went to join Braeden. Before he did, he looked across the dusty plaza to where Scott had just finished talking with Argent. The shared a long look, an acknowledgement of equals, of mentor and protégé, of brothers. Then Derek was gone.

Stiles sniffled. When Jackson looked at him, Stiles gestured with impatience. “Dust allergies.”

Scott was staring at the path the retreating hunters had taken. 

“Argent’s going with them?” Jackson asked, while Stiles split off to talk with Malia and Liam.

“Yeah. They’re going to track down Kate.” Scott frowned. 

“What’s the long face for?”

“He made a deal with them. He would help them in return for the Calaveras leaving us alone.” Scott fidgeted. “I don’t like it.”

Jackson looked at the direction, but the old but tough trucks the hunting clan favored were dwindling specks. “He must have felt he had to.”

“He’s lost so much, and some of that is my —”

Jackson growled at him. 

“Some of it is my responsibility,” Scott amended. “I can’t imagine having to track down a member of my own family.”

“Argent’s going to be the best man for the job. He knows his sister; he knows the resources she can call upon. And it’s his Code. Kate could hurt a lot of people. She hurt everyone one of us here.” Jackson looked back at the police van. “He’s doing what he has to do; it’s his responsibility, not yours.”

Scott followed his gaze. “What?”

“I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t kill Peter.” Jackson had no need to. _So incorruptible._ “But I am going to ask you why you didn’t let the Calaveras kill Peter?”

“Why would I?”

“Because he’s a murderer — he’s killed six people of which we know. He’s tried to kill every single person in this courtyard except for Parrish, he’s tried to kill you, me, and Stiles multiple times. He’s a user; he’s violated people we care about. He had his second chance, and he threw it away.” 

“He’s mentally ill. He belongs in a hospital, not on the executioner’s block.” Scott set his shoulders stubbornly.

“Maybe. Maybe. _Maybe._ ” Jackson’s frustration grew. “Maybe I could believe that if he had gone on a rampage the moment he became physically mobile on the full moons. But he didn’t. He taught his nurse everything she needed to know to lure Laura across the country. He hid from his nephew, the oldest werewolf hunting clan in the world, and the police, while trying to manipulate you and killing the conspirators who burned their family. He knew right from wrong — he just didn’t care. Does that make him ill?”

Scott raised one hand. “I know what he did, more than anyone. But I beat him; what he chooses to do doesn’t matter to me anymore.” 

Jackson had been right. Scott had used the fight to put his Peter-issues to rest. “But what about what it means to the rest of us? You and Derek gave him a second chance, and he used that second chance in an attempt to make us all complicit in your murder. Even if he managed to steal your power without killing all of us — he would have had to kill at least one more person, and most likely two — what do you think the survivors would have felt like if he had succeeded? If we had your blood on our hands? He should die.”

“Jackson, he’s your father —”

“My father’s name is David.” Jackson retorted. “Peter Hale is a threat. He’s always going to be a threat. He used his own daughter to try to kill you. Do you think that’s going to change with _another_ hospital stay? If he gets out … _when_ he gets out, he’s going to try again.”

“And we’ll beat him again.” Scott replied with confidence. The alpha must have seen Jackson’s displeasure. “When you were a sophomore, did you think you’d be standing outside an Aztec temple buried beneath a church discussing the fate of a man who helped kill you when you were a junior?”

“Uh. No.”

“No. You didn’t. I didn’t think that I’d be what I am either. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, so how can we justify doing terrible things because of it? It won’t make us one degree safer. As for the past? Killing him won’t bring those people back to life. Killing him won’t remove the trauma he inflicted on our friends. The only thing that killing Peter will do is make us killers. I’m not trying to protect him. I’m trying to protect us.”

“Scott …” 

“We’re not killing him.” Scott’s voice grew firm and his eyes flashed. “And I don’t do this often, but that’s an order.”

“Fine.” Jackson wasn’t happy, but he had a plan. 

Scott smiled at him. “Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got a long trip home.”

Scott walked away and Jackson walked back as well. Just as Stiles had earlies, he got enough signal on his phone even in this God-forsaken place. He placed a call.

******

It was easier than it should have been for Jackson to pull off the stunt. He was improvising and he wasn’t as good at it as Stiles, but that was okay. He was also taking advantage of the pack’s trust, and he knew he was going to pay for it. Scott was going to be furious. He’d take his punishment like a good werewolf. 

They were passing through San Fernando when Jackson suggested that they stop and get something to eat. They had another seven hours of driving before they reached Beacon Hills, and everyone was already tired and hungry. Jackson even volunteered to take the first shift watching Peter in the van while the others went and got food, as long as they brought him back something. 

They stopped at a mall with a Walmart and a Chinese food place. Jackson paid for Scott and Kira to get clothes that weren’t covered in dirt and blood. It was a little fun. 

He waited until the last of them had disappeared into First Wok before he bent down and slashed the rear tire on the SUV. Then he took the lug wrench from the back. Using superhuman strength, they could still switch out the flat, but it would take a lot longer now, and time was what he needed. 

Then he got in the prisoner transport van and drove off into the heart of Los Angeles. 

As he drove, he pulled out his phone. Yes, it wasn’t the safest thing to do, but he had super-human reflexes; he could make one call while driving. He didn’t have to dial it anew; it was the same number he had called before when they were down in Mexico.

It was evening in London, but Alexandrina must have had the phone handy. “Good afternoon to you, Jackson.”

“Alpha Blakeslee.”

“Do you have the package?”

“I do.” Jackson glanced behind him. Peter was still unconscious. “Where do I go?”

“Santa Monica Airport.” 

“An airport?”

“You’ll find a chartered jet there, waiting for you. All you have to do is deliver the package. They’ll take care of the rest.”

Jackson hesitated. He was expecting a lot more trouble than this like it was going to take. 

Alexandrina must have guessed what was wrong. “Are you surprised?”

“I wasn’t expecting something like that. Chartering a jet is a lot of money. You didn’t need to go to those lengths.”

“First, I didn’t charter a jet. The Club hired professionals who are well-respected and more than capable of getting the package where it needs to go. It’s their jet. When you get to the airport, they’ll know what you look like, what you are, what the package is and how to take care of it.”

“So … so what will happen once you get the package?”

“As you sure you want to know?” Alexandrina’s voice was probing, testing.

“I asked. I may not be the most experienced of your friends, but I’m under no illusion about what I’m doing.”

“The package will be brought to London. The next meeting of the Club will be dedicated to its auction.”

“Are you going to get enough money to make it worth your while?”

Alexandrina laughed. “I’ve already contacted several outsiders who will are extraordinarily interested in getting the package into their hands. I did say that it had offended people, people who you really don’t want to offend. They may not have been willing to go after it on their own, but if they’re handed the opportunity they’re not going to turn it down.”

Jackson hummed. 

“The Club will benefit. I will benefit. Your pack will benefit. What’s more to worry about?”

Jackson thought about it for a very long moment. Once this was done, it could not be undone. “Nothing. I owe you one, Alexandrina.”

“You owe me nothing. This has been all pleasure. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.” Jackson hung up.

According to the maps on his phone, the airport was only a half-hour away. With any luck, he could get there and get back before they’re even done eating, and unless it took forever with these professionals, he’d certainly be back before they changed the tire.

The sun was shining. Spring would be there soon. He listened to some songs as he drove. 

It took little time for him to find the chartered jet. The Santa Monica Airport had been trying to stop jets from landing there for some time, but they still could, so the one parked at the end of a row of planes with three people standing next to it wearing black tactical gear and sunglasses was hard to miss. He pulled up the van next to them.

“You’re a little conspicuous.”

A tall blond woman with a hatchet face and a stony voice wasn’t going to take any shit from a teenager. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t see what they don’t want to see. You’re Jackson Whittemore.”

“I am.” Jackson spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Who arranged this with you?”

For a moment, Jackson was confused. Why would they ask him that? Oh. It’s a way of verifying that he was who he said he was and this was what they’ve been told it was. “Alexandrina Blakeslee.” However, two could play at this game. “You’re not law enforcement, are you?” 

They all denied it, one after another. Contrary to television programs, this was not proof against a sting operation, but, then again, most criminals can’t listen to their heartbeats. “I’ll need five minutes, then you can take him.”

Jackson got in the pack of the van and closed the doors. Peter was lying on the floor. They didn’t have any chains as Liam had broken them all, but he was drugged with wolf’s bane. He slapped Peter back to some form of consciousness.

“Jackson?” Peter wasn’t fully cognizant, but he recognized him.

“Hello, Peter. Since this is the last time that we’re going to have a chance at a conversation, I have some things to say to you.”

“What? You’re Scott’s enforcer now?”

Jackson let his face show revulsion. “Those don’t actually exist. But I’m not doing this at Scott’s behest. This is all for me. You can say it’s a family affair.”

Peter was many things, but slow on the uptake was not one of them. He put two and two together. “You’re a Hale.”

“Your spawn.”

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.”

Jackson punched him then. He punched him really hard. Peter was still too doped up to defend himself. “What happened in Mexico wasn’t a secret. That was just plain evil.”

“It’s not evil to want to protect my —”

Jackson punched him again. “If the words ‘my family’ come out of your mouth one more time, I won’t stop with a single punch. You endangered Malia and Derek by working with Kate. You used your own blood as pawns in a game to kill a man who has never done anything but resist you. The only person who did more damage to the Hale family than you has been Kate Argent, who you were fucking working with by the way.”

Peter tried to maintain some dignity and decorum. “So what is this? An execution? Am I supposed to be chastened?”

“No. It’s a warning.” Jackson got one of the injections of yellow wolf’s bane and readied it. “No one told me to do this, yet I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. Why? Not because it’s the right thing to do. Scott doesn’t want your execution. He has hope for you. He thinks you can get better. And I believe him.”

Peter growled then. He hated Scott so much. “I’m already better.”

“But you know what I think? I think that Scott shouldn’t have to worry about you ruining his life ever again. Lydia shouldn’t have to remember that you violated her yet walk around free ever again. Stiles shouldn’t have to be afraid of you. Malia shouldn’t have to call you ‘dad.’ Derek should be able to move one with his life. Yeah, he’s alive. No thanks to you. None of these people should have to hear your name or see your face ever again, because it’s what they deserve.”

Peter sneered. “If this is not an execution …” He tried to struggle to sitting up and Jackson pushed him down hard enough to hurt.

“I sold you.” Jackson said it simply. “There are lot of people in Europe from who you stole things, and they have long memories. The Hellfire Club is going to put you on the block for the highest bidder, and we will never ever have to deal with you again.” With that, he injected the yellow wolf’s bane before the drugged Peter could defend himself. “Remember one thing, though. If you manage somehow to get away from those people? Don’t come back to Beacon Hills. Because my next step _will_ be an execution. You can sleep now.”

He waited until Peter was completely passed out before he opened the back doors and gave them over to his fate.

******

Some people might think that someone like Jackson would be plagued with nightmares. He was eighteen, he had been transformed into an monstrous killing machine, he had been enslaved by a revenge-crazed stalker and then by a violent psychopath, he had unwillingly murdered ten people, he had voluntarily killed one person, he’d been shot and poisoned, he’d fought with and tried to kill both friends and family, and he had kidnapped and delivered his biological father to a shadowy and illicit organization in Europe.

He wasn’t. Sure, once in a while, he will have a nightmare. The terrors of the past will always be part of him. It was fair. If all he suffered because of what he’d been through was a few sleepless nights every year, it was more than fair. But he didn’t have them every night. Most of his nights were peaceful. Some of his nights were wonderful.

Like this particular night.

It was the first night since they had come back from Mexico in which Jackson felt comfortable visiting Stiles. The whole pack had been mad at Jackson — Stiles most of all. It wasn’t that Stiles objected to what he had done, but he felt that Jackson had shut him out of the decision and handled it all by himself. He hadn’t stayed mad, because Stiles defended him to Parrish. Scott hadn’t said one word to Jackson since. Both Stiles and Jackson agreed that Scott would come around. It would just take time.

When they finally reached Beacon Hills, however, another obstacle presented themselves: Sheriff Stilinski. The sheriff had frog-marched Stiles into his room and declared him grounded until Noah decided otherwise. He actually had deputies drive Stiles to and from school and placed a house-arrest cuff on him. It was a little extreme, but Noah was determined to make his own point as well.

Yet the sheriff didn’t get away free from blame either. Malia, not realizing what it would do, let it slip to Melissa, who told the Yukimuras, about their adventures in Mexico. The sheriff got cornered in his office by three very angry parents who threatened terrible things if they were ever kept out of the loop again. The entire sheriff’s station heard the punch when Ken Yukimura realized that the sheriff hadn’t bothered to alert the Border Patrol or the FBI or anyone about his daughter or Scott being kidnapped.

Shame-faced, the sheriff had removed the house-arrest ankle cuff that night.

That still didn’t let Stiles off the hook and he was still officially grounded, but Stiles and Jackson didn’t care. It was the early hours of the morning, and Jackson was entwined with Stiles, who was snoring like a malfunctioning chainsaw. Jackson thought it was adorable, but when they moved in together, they were going to have separate bedrooms. 

Jackson ran a finger down the sleeping boy’s arm. “When,” he muttered to himself. 

As graceful as he could be with his supernatural reflexes, he wasn’t graceful enough to get out of bed without waking Stiles. He tried, when he had to run to the bathroom. He was more focused on making sure that the sheriff didn’t find a naked boy in is house. When he slipped back in, Stiles stirred and opened his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Stiles rolled over in the bed. 

“If you insist …” Jackson rolled him back so he was face up.

“For the love of my physical well-being, stop.” Stiles looked up at him. “I’m not horny; I’m tired. Didn’t you get enough last night?”

“That was five hours ago.”

“Get a werewolf boyfriend, they said.” Stiles put a pillow over his face. “It’ll be fun, they said.”

Jackson pulled the pillow off his face and gave him a kiss. 

“Ugh.” Stiles said into the kiss. “I’m gross. Why do you do that?”

“I have a heightened sense of smell, Stiles. The whole world’s gross.” He shifted to spoon Stiles. “There.”

“You’re a wicked, wicked person, Jackson Whittemore.”

Jackson fell silent for a moment. Stiles sensed this, because he would have. “I didn’t mean that …”

“I am, though.”

“Hey.” Stiles shot up in bed and turned to face him. “Hey! You shouldn’t say that.”

“I told you what I did, and a good person would feel bad about it, but I don’t.”

“You don’t sound okay with it, Jackson.” 

“I feel bad because I don’t feel bad about it. I know where my feelings come from, and I don’t feel a thing for Peter. I did it because I wanted to do it, not because it was the right thing to do.”

Stiles hummed. “Maybe it was the right thing to do. For you.” 

“Scott doesn’t agree.”

“Scott doesn’t have to agree. He’d be the first person to say that.” Stiles reasoned. “That doesn’t mean he’s not going to be angry with you for a while. And he gets to do that. Whether it’s wicked depends on why you did it.”

“I did it for my friends. Yeah, Scott wants Peter to have the chance to get better, but he, and you, and Derek, and Malia, and Lydia shouldn’t have to pay the price for his chance to get better. He’s taken enough from all of you. He’s stolen enough from all of you. I got him away without killing him, and that’s all the compromise I’m willing to give.”

“I think it could be many things, but evil is not one of them.” Stiles kissed him. “I think it’s cute. Who won the auction?”

“Polish necromantic werewolf pack.” At Stiles widened eyes, Jackson continued. “He stole his resurrection ritual from them. Only, unlike them, he got it to work.”

“And they didn’t.”

“Nope. They didn’t.”

“So not only are they pissed off about him stealing it, they’re jealous as fuck.”

Jackson nodded. “I’m sure they’ll keep Peter busy for a good long time.”

They relaxed together. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours.

“Jacks?”

“Yeah.” He was enjoying the scent of Stiles’ hair. It was comforting to him. 

“It’s March. School’s over for you in May. You’re going to be graduating.”

“Maybe. It’s been rough, switching schools, running to Mexico.” Jackson lied casually.

“I know your transcript, Jacks. You could graduate.”

Jackson slipped a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck. “I _could._ Maybe I won’t.”

“Why would you repeat a year?” 

“Because I want to stick around. I want to be with my family. My friends. You.” Jackson puts a kiss on one of Stiles’ eyelids. “You don’t get it. I like this. I like _all_ of this.”

Stiles hummed pleasantly. 

“Pre-law will still be there. I’m not dependent on scholarships. And if people worry about a gap year, well, my father had a massive heart attack. I’ll be fine. I’ll get into any school I want to go to.”

“Don’t stay in high school, even if you are sticking around.”

Jackson smirked. “What will I do for a whole year?”

Stiles pulled him down. “I guess I’ll just have to think of something.”

There was time before dawn. Jackson held Stiles until the boy fell back to sleep, but Jackson wasn’t sleepy. He was supposed to have made new friends in London, and he had. He had just made more friends, better friends, back here. He was supposed to redefine himself in London, and he had. Yet Jackson redefined belonged in Beacon Hills. He was supposed to build a new life in London, and he had.

But the best life he could get was the one that was right here.


End file.
